


A World That Sends You Reeling

by SunshineAndRoseWater



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineAndRoseWater/pseuds/SunshineAndRoseWater
Summary: In the year 2019 the world ended and a City arose to bring back civilization and order. Mikey, unsatisfied with life in the City, flees into the desert to become a Killjoy. Gerard is reluctant to follow. He’s a single parent with child to take care of, he can’t just go chasing fantasies anymore. Then tragedy strikes. Gerard follows Mikey into the desert where he gets picked up by the Killjoys and becomes Party Poison. Soon Gerard finds being the leader of the Killjoys isn't easy and if he doesn't fulfill his role there will be consequences.This is a story about ideas and how other people misinterpret them.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also check out Jiksa's fan-fucking-tastic fanartwork When The End Comes Reeling (Fair warning: the art contains some spoilers.)

_The day the world ended Gerard was having a picnic with his family. When he closes his eyes he can still remember how it felt to sit on the grass with one arm wrapped around his wife while they watched Mikey push Bandit on the swings._

_“Higher, Uncle Mikey,” she crowed and Mikey pushed a little harder, but not much because she was already swinging so high the chains were going slack on the upper curve of the swing._

_Sometimes Gerard prefers to go there, back to that day in the park, and forget about the present._

“Look alive,” Mikey mumbles.

Gerard opens his eyes and sees their boss making his way down the hall, peering over his worker’s shoulders as he passes them. Gerard scrambles for some paperwork, trying to make it look like he was doing something.

“Mr. Way,” their boss says, coming up to his desk. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh.” Gerard flips through more papers and finally locates one that he remembers reading. “There’s a discrepancy in this one. Or, rather, it’s unreadable.”

The boss snatches the paper out of his hand and glances over the horrible handwriting. The form is a request for food stamps. People only fill out these applications when they are desperate because if they do get approved then their name gets put on a permanent record. Gerard doesn’t know exactly what that means, but he does know being permanently known as a food stamp recipient isn’t a good thing.

Gerard feels bad for pointing out the application, but his boss wants him to show something and Gerard had been trying to translate the messy handwriting for a while.

“Very well.” His boss hands the paper back. “Discard it.”

Gerard hesitates. If he discards it the applicant won’t get their food stamps and they won’t know why. They’ll also have to wait another month before re-applying.

“Mr. Way?” His boss is still looming over him. Gerard shoves the paper into the discard slot, listening as it’s shredded. His boss nods and stalks off. Probably to terrorize some other unfortunate office grunt.

“Smooth,” Mikey mutters under his breath.

Gerard turns Mikey’s way just long enough to snap, “A little more warning next time,” before anyone notices. Mikey just sighs and returns to his work.

*

“Y’know you have to actually do work once in a while,” Mikey says.

“Sorry.” The overused apology feels heavy on Gerard’s tongue.

Mikey nods. He flips his lunchbox in the air and barely catches it as it falls back down.

“If you break that we’re not buying a new one.”

Mikey flips the box again. He misses and it clatters to the ground. The closure pops and the remains of his lunch scatter across the sidewalk. He scrambles to pick up the wrappers and food bits. The last thing they need is a littering fine. Once the contents are all returned Mikey stuffs it firmly under his arm. Mikey’s knees have been bothering him lately so Gerard gives him a hand up.

“It’s not broken,” Mikey says in response to Gerard’s raised eyebrow.

“It better not be.”

They reenter the flow of government workers heading home. Most everyone walks. The City is relatively small and distances are reasonable. Those who can afford it take public transport. Almost no one has personal vehicles, in a city this size they aren’t needed and the cost of gasoline makes even the wealthiest residence shy away from owning personal cars. The result is that the roads are usually populated by buses, construction vehicles, and emergency service vehicles.

Gerard and Mikey could take public transport, but the cost for both of them is six dollars a day. That money is better spent elsewhere, like buying groceries.

Gerard says. “I’ve got work at the studio tonight. You’ve--”

“Got Bandit? Of course.”

“Awesome. I prepared some soup and sandwiches for dinner. You just need to heat up the soup.”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “You’ll never let me cook again, will you?”

“You almost burnt the apartment down.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t.”

It’s Gerard’s turn to roll his eyes. “Just heat up the soup. And don’t burn it. And pick up Bandit from school.”

Mikey scoffs. “As if I’d forget that.”

They say their goodbyes and Gerard heads to his second job.

The studio is the city’s graphic design department. The demand for art in the City is miniscule and the only organization that actually employs artists on a regular basis is the City itself. Gerard spends most of his evenings designing signs and informational posters that will get plastered around town.

Gerard isn’t actually cut out for the job. He’s an artist, not a graphic designer. However, the studio does have one graphic designer, a young woman named Emma. Their collaborative efforts churn out most of the City’s designs. The graphic design department is actually so small that it’s just them.

Gerard likes it. It gives him a chance to create without a boss constantly looming over his shoulder. If it means he has to spend most evenings away from his family, well, at least it pays.

*

Gerard gets home later than usual and by the time he does Bandit is already tucked into bed. Gerard settles at the table with his reheated dinner. Mikey joins him.

He hands Gerard a piece of paper covered in smears of colorful paint.

“Bandit’s latest art project. She got an ‘A,’ she’s very proud.”

“Awesome.” Gerard looks over the artwork. It looks like the grocery store they frequent, if it had been attacked by neon paint. “Very cool.”

“Tell her, not me,” Mikey jokes. “But not tonight. She’s got a math test tomorrow that she’s really worried about.”

“Did you help her study?”

Mikey nods. “Math is hard, dude. I don’t remember math being that hard when I was her age.”

Gerard shrugs. “Things are different now.”

*

Their apartment is small and only has two bedrooms, so Gerard and Mikey share a room. It’s not what they’d prefer, but it’s all they can afford. At least they’ve never had to apply for food stamps.

“We should go,” Mikey says, standing by the window. He does this most every night. They live in a rather seedy part of the city known as Mechanic’s Corner. Nothing about the location is appealing except for the unobstructed view of the desert beyond the City walls.

Gerard collapses heavily on his bed. He’s already exhausted by his long day of work, he’s too tired to have this argument with Mikey, again.

“There’s too much radiation. Nobody can live out there for long.”

“Says who?” Mikey’s voice still has that far-away thoughtful quality to it. This hasn’t become an argument, yet.

“Says scientists, with degrees.”

“Who are employed by the government,” Mikey counters.

“Christ, Mikey, don’t start.”

Mikey turns away from the window. “I have a point and you know it.”

“No. No you don’t.” Gerard tugs at his hair is frustration. “For the thousandth time. This isn’t Battery City. The government is not BLI. Life is not a comic book.”

“Lots of people would disagree with you,” Mikey snaps. “Some of the groups out there even call themselves Killjoys.”

Gerard throws his hands out in frustration. “I don’t give a flying fuck if they start marching and call themselves The Black Parade, we are not-- Wait, how do you know what they’re called?”

Mikey looks away. “Never mind.”

“Mikey.”

“Look, the point is that there are people out there who aren’t just rolling over for a dictatorial government. There are people who are fighting back.”

“Against what?” Gerard asks.

“Against this!” Mikey fires back. “Against a government that’s got us in a chokehold. Against a dull, grey world where people are existing, not living. You call this bullshit a life?”

Gerard’s anger flares. “This ‘bullshit’ means a life for Bandit. A safe one where she can achieve something and not just run around a desert wasteland. Where she’ll live to be older than I ever will. That is what I care about above all else, you selfish piece of shit.”

“What happened to you?” Mikey asks.

“I grew the fuck up,” Gerard says. “You should too.”

Mikey looks tired all of a sudden. A beat down, worn out tired. He looks a lot like Gerard feels.

“Forget it. Get some sleep.”

“Mikey.” Gerard puts his hand on Mikey’s shoulder, but Mikey brushes it off.

“Just… go to bed, Gee. You need sleep.”

Gerard does need sleep, but he’s not going to end the night with an argument. He grabs Mikey’s shoulder to keep him still and places a kiss on his forehead. He half expects Mikey to smack him for it, but he doesn’t.

“I love you.”

It isn’t until they’re both in bed and Gerard is almost asleep then Mikey finally responds.

“I love you, too.”

*

It’s late. Bandit is in bed, they have tomorrow off for City Founder’s Day and Mikey is “out.”

That’s all he said. “I’m going out.”

Gerard doesn’t care, really he doesn’t. Mikey’s an adult, he’s allowed to do his own things and he doesn’t actually _have_ to tell Gerard shit. It would just be nice if he did every once in a while.

It’s fine, Gerard does appreciate these times of solitude.

He takes a swig from the bottle of whisky. He’s leaning pretty heavily against the counter already, his years of sobriety effectively destroying his alcohol tolerance. It doesn't matter. He’s not looking to spend all night out partying like he did when he was younger. He just needs a little liquid warmth, just enough to take the edge off.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He was a successful musician in an internationally famous band and an accomplished comic book creator. He was married to the love of his life and she gave him the most beautiful daughter. Everything was perfect, until it wasn’t.

Now he’s living his own personal nightmare. A dead-end job, two in fact. Working so many hours he barely has time for his family. It’s exactly what he feared would happen to him when he was twenty. Now that it’s happened, having something to drink makes the whole things just a little easier to swallow.

“What are you doing?”

Mikey’s home. He’s standing in the doorway staring at Gerard in… horror? Disgust?

Gerard tucks the bottle to his side. “Nothin’.”

Mikey closes the door and enters the kitchen. His shoulders are tense under the leather jacket Gerard’s never seen before. They don’t own anything leather, they can’t afford it.

Gerard starts. “Where’d you get-”

“You’re an alcoholic, Gee. You can’t be drinking.”

“It’s fine.”

Mikey holds out his hand. “Give it to me”

Gerard grips the bottle neck tighter.

“Give it to me, Gerard.”

“No.”

Mikey grabs him, he tries to wriggle away, but Mikey’s taller and stronger. He pins Gerard against the counter and wrenches the bottle out of his hand.

“Give it back. I don’t drink much. I’m not drunk. I just. It takes the edge off.”

“Can you hear yourself, Gee?” Mikey still has Gerard pinned, he’s holding the bottle as far away as his arm will go. Damnit, why does he have to have such long arms? “You’re pathetic.”

“I am pathetic,” Gerard agrees. “I’m pathetic and depressed and life is shit and and and. Mikey, please.”

Mikey takes a drink from the bottle.

“You can’t do that,” Gerard gasps. “You’re an alcoholic.”

“Pot. Kettle.” Mikey mumbles and stalks off to their room. Gerard trails after him. They both collapse onto Mikey’s bed.

Mikey takes another swig and passes the bottle over. Gerard takes a few swallows and passes it back. They go back and forth like this until Gerard is certain they’re both pretty well hammered.

“Gee, why are we doing this?” Mikey asks.

“Because we’re both pathetic?” Mikey’s shoulder looks like a good pillow. Gerard rests his head on it. Mikey’s arm wraps lightly around him and Mikey leans his head on Gerard’s.

“That’s not what I meant.”

They sit in silence. Gerard realizes Mikey’s waiting for an answer. “What’re we talkin’ about?”

“Why are we here, Gee? I mean, why here and not there?” Mikey waves his hand vaguely. Gerard knows what he means. Why stay in the City, why not leave for the desert? There’s a reason, there is. Gerard knows there is, but right now he can’t remember it. Right now, running away seems like a good idea.

“I dunno,” Gerard admits. “Maybe we should.”

*

Hangovers are evil.

Gerard’s head throbs like someone took a hammer and chisel to it and his tongue feels furry like he licked a cat. The bright morning light streaming in through a thin opening in the blinds torments him and makes it almost impossible to open his eyes.

He tries to get up, but Mikey’s lying partly on top of him, still passed out and snoring. Gerard wriggles away, giving Mikey a couple of petty elbows to the side. Mikey doesn’t wake up. Eventually Gerard extracts himself.

Bandit is in the living room watching cartoons and eating cereal. Completely oblivious to the events of last night. Gerard takes a cold shower and finally feels more human. He collapses on the couch and watches the inane adventures of the comical characters on TV.

A few episodes later Mikey stumbles in. He goes to the kitchen and Gerard can hear him digging through the recycle bin, shoving the empty whisky bottle down to the bottom. Gerard watches Bandit, but she remains oblivious of the noise.

Mikey enters the living room and makes eye contact with Gerard. Without speaking Gerard knows what he means.

_Never again._

Gerard nods. “Go take a shower.”

Mikey does.


	2. 2

On Saturday they go to the park. It’s a tiny little thing made of more packed dirt than grass, but it gets them out of the apartment and gives Bandit a chance to run around and get some fresh air. They also bring along their grocery bags so they can stop by the store on the way home.

On the way Bandit decides to play some sort of game that she saw some of her classmates playing with their parents. Each parent would take one of the child’s hands and together they would lift the child and swing them forward. Gerard and Mikey happily lend their arm strength to the game.

A few swings into the game Gerard starts to feel like they’re being watched. He looks around and sure enough people are watching. Some are just glancing quickly before looking away and hurrying off, others are outright staring.

At first Gerard’s not sure what they’re staring at. Bandit’s laughter isn’t any louder than any other children on the street. This particular section of sidewalk is quite wide, so they aren’t blocking anybody from passing them. Then it clicks and all the joy drains out of him. These strangers are all seeing two men with a child.

Homosexuality is illegal here and the general population holds an intensely negative view on it. It doesn’t matter that Gerard and Mikey are actually brothers, raising Bandit together out of circumstance rather than choice. The people around them can’t see that.

Gerard glances at Mikey and realizes that he has come to the same conclusion.

Mikey releases Bandit’s hand. “I think that’s enough of that game.”

“But, I don’t wanna-”

“Bandit, that’s enough,” Gerard says. “Let’s walk normally to the park, we can play there.”

Bandit pouts, but doesn’t argue.

“Why don’t I go shopping and you two go to the park?” Mikey suggests.

That sounds like a good idea, especially because they are still getting stares. Gerard passes over the bags and the shopping list and starts digging money out of his wallet. He realizes that he has no idea how much Mikey will need; prices fluctuate drastically with no warning depending upon the wildly unpredictable shipments that feed the City. Instead, Gerard takes his ID card out and passes the whole wallet over. Mikey takes it without comment.

“But we were all supposed to go to the park together,” Bandit says.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” Mikey reaches out to ruffle Bandit’s hair as he usually does, but decides against it. He gives them a small half-hearted wave and heads off.

Bandit doesn’t complain again, but she does pout the rest of the way to the park. Once at the park, however, she spots a few of her friends and immediately runs off to play with them, her concerns forgotten. Gerard wishes he could lose his cares as easily as she does.

They spend some time like that. Bandit runs around with her friends while Gerard watches from a bench in the slim shade of a small tree. A few of Bandit’s friend’s mothers come up to introduce themselves. Because of Gerard’s second job it’s usually Mikey who picks Bandit up from school so most of the women are people Gerard hasn’t met.

One of the ladies is a young woman with light brown hair named Selina. “Young” is a relative term, Gerard supposes, as she tells him that she is twenty-seven in a tone that implies she feels she might as well be fifty.

“I’m not married,” Selina says, twisting the gold band on her ring finger. “It’s just better to let people assume you are, y’know?”

Gerard nods, twisting his own ring. He wears his because he is still very much in love with his wife, even if she is gone. Beyond that, though, there are benefits to pretending to be married. Married couples with children are considered the epitome of societal perfection. They are treated well by the government as well as by the general population. Alternatively, single parents are looked down upon as deadbeats or burdens to society. It’s a strange way of thinking considering how many families were torn apart in the chaos and how many single parents and orphans there now are in the world. Gerard doesn’t try to understand it.

“Are you interested in settling down?” Selina asks.

“Uh…” Gerard almost asks how she knew he didn’t have a wife, but then he realizes that with the amount of involvement Mikey has in Bandit’s life it’s probably obvious there is a missing parent. “No, not really. No.”

Selina places a hand on his. “Really? A young father like you wouldn’t want a wife?”

Gerard considers telling her that he does have a wife, even if she’s no longer with them. He also considers pointing out that he is almost fifteen years her senior. Suddenly there’s shouting on the street and it pulls his attention away from the conversation.

A group of people run down the sidewalk, shouting loudly. They turn down the next block and disappear, though their voices can still be heard. A moment later a police car races down the street after them, lights flashing.

“What’s going on?” Gerard asks.

Selina shakes her head and calls for her son. “Parker! Parker, we’re going home now.”

Gerard calls for Bandit as well. She returns, unaware of what just occurred.

“What’s going on?” Bandit asks.

“We gotta go home now,” Gerard says.

“Should we get Uncle Mikey?”

Should they? Gerard has no idea how long they’ve been at the park. Mikey might be at home already or he might still be shopping.

“We’ll pass by the store on the way home.”

Passing the store is no problem because it’s on their usual route home, but that means they have to go in the same direction the group ran in. It makes Gerard nervous.

As they approach Gerard starts to notice a crowd formed around the store. He stops, afraid to get closer. There is a group at the doors attempting to pry them open. Gerard doesn’t know why they’d be locked to begin with. One person breaks off from the group and grabs an empty display table. He hefts it up and throws it at the glass doors. The glass cracks.

“C’mon.”

Gerard grabs Bandit’s hand and tows her away. He didn’t see Mikey in the crowd, and if he was there, well, Gerard wouldn’t be able to do much without putting Bandit in harm’s way. Two more police cars and an ambulance race past as they retreat.

“What are those people doing?” Bandit asks. “Why were they throwing things at the store?”

“You want to know why, sweetie?” a voice says.

Gerard halts and pulls Bandit close to him. In front of them looms a bulky man in a dark overcoat and a balaclava.

“Let us by, we don’t want any trouble,” Gerard says.

Balaclava ignores him and continues to address Bandit.

“It’s because a lot of us are hungry, you see? The man who runs that shop won’t give us any food. He only gives food to the people with cushy government jobs. Like your father probably has. Am I right?” He directs his last question to Gerard. Gerard doesn't answer it. Even if he were to deny it, the guy probably wouldn’t believe him.

“My daughter and I just want to get home.”

“Well, you’re headed the wrong way for Grove District.”

“We don’t live in Grove,” Gerard snaps before he thinks about it. Because he’s still bitter that he can’t provide Bandit with the safety and security of the most expensive residential district in the City.

Balaclava studies him. “No, eh? Well, aren’t you tired of living under the government’s thumb? Living in fear that they’ll cast you out into the slums because you aren’t their idea of a ‘perfect citizen?’ Don’t you want to be free of this dictatorship?”

The creep’s rhetoric sounds awfully like Mikey’s. That thought makes Gerard shrink back. Balaclava notices.

“Or maybe you’d like to donate some money to the cause?”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Nonsense.” Balaclava’s hand closes around Gerard’s throat. He squeezes. “Hand over your wallet.”

Bandit screams. Gerard claws at the hand on his throat, but it won’t budge. He can’t breathe. He’s starting to feel faint. He digs his thumbnail into the guy’s hand, pressing as hard as he can into the fleshy pad just below the guy’s thumb. Finally, Balaclava lets go with a curse. He balls his hand into a fist and punches Gerard square in the eye. Gerard hits the sidewalk. He doesn’t try to get back up immediately. Maybe if he stays down the guy will back off.

“What. The hell. Is going on?” a new voice asks.

A woman has appeared next to Balaclava. She is dressed in long dark pants, a dark jacket, and heavy boots. Unlike her companion, she’s not wearing a mask. She glares at the guy.

“So we’re beating up parents with kids now? What’s next, we gonna brain an elderly lady with her own cane?”

Balaclava raises his hands in surrender.

“He wouldn’t give me his wallet,” he whines defensively.

The lady rolls her eyes and offers Gerard a hand up. He takes it. Something brushes his hip lightly and suddenly the lady is holding his ID card.

“‘Gerard,’ that’s an interesting name,” she observes. “Mechanic’s Corner, oh jeez.”

She hands Gerard’s ID back as if the low status of his residential district will somehow rub off on her.

“If anything, _we_ should be giving _you_ money.”

Gerard stuffs his ID back in his pocket and grabs Bandit’s hand.

The lady waits a moment, but when Gerard doesn’t say anything she waves them off.

“Go home. Be careful now, a lot of the rioters are from your corner.”

Gerard and Bandit hurry away.

Bandit remains silent the rest of the way home, for which Gerard is thankful. The Business District is almost empty, given that it’s Saturday, so they travel most of the way home through there.

Mechanic’s Corner is in the aftermath stage. Whatever happened it looks like it started here. On the edge of the district one apartment building is in flames, surrounded by firetrucks and other emergency personnel. Beyond that, the streets are littered with broken glass, downed signs, and spills of various natures that Gerard doesn’t even want to contemplate. He thinks one puddle might be blood. After that, he decides to carry Bandit the rest of the way home. They make it to their apartment building without running into anyone else.

“Gerard!”

As soon as they get to their floor Mikey is there to meet them.

“Take her,” Gerard says, shoving Bandit into Mikey’s arms.

“What hap--”

“Just…” Gerard makes a flailing gesture with his hands. Mikey shuts up and leads them back to the apartment. Bandit starts crying, the reality of the day finally setting in.

Gerard collapses onto the couch with an ice pack over his eye and listens to Mikey calm her down. He turns on the TV. Every channel is breaking news about the riots. They’re happening all over the City. The blonde-haired reporter announces that the rioters are all anti-government extremists.

Mikey enters the living room. “She’s asleep now. She--”

“Did you know about this?” Gerard points to the footage of the rioting.

“What?” Mikey asks. “Why?’

Gerard feels rage boil within him. He gets in Mikey’s face. “These people are anti-government, just like you. This is too big to be spontaneous, it had to be planned.”

“How do you know they’re anti-government? The media--”

“Because one of them gave me this.” Gerard removes the ice pack from his face, he knows the area around his eye is already bruised and swollen. Mikey gasps and reaches out to Gerard’s face.

“Did you know about this, Mikey?” Gerard asks again, more calmly.

“No,” Mikey insists. “Fuck no. If I had, do you think I would have let either of you out of the apartment today?”

“Okay.” Gerard believes him. They may disagree a lot, but Mikey would never put Gerard or Bandit in harm's way.

“Good.” Mikey gently inspects Gerard’s eye. “What happened to you?”

“One of the rioters wanted money. When I told him I didn’t have any, he choked me and punched me.”

Mikey inspects Gerard’s neck. By his expression, Gerard assumes it’s bruising as well.

“That bastard,” Mikey curses. “If I had been there--”

“We would’ve both gotten mugged and then we wouldn’t have any money or food. Did you get the groceries?”

Mikey nods. “Yeah, or mostly. I think something happened to the last shipment of goods. The shelves were practically bare.”

“So what’d you get?” Gerard moved past Mikey and starts digging through the cabinets and fridge.

“It’s what they had,” Mikey explains as Gerard finds the cabinet holding a small stack of soups, most of which they all dislike.

“It’s fine,” Gerard tells him. “We have food, that’s what matters.”

_That’s why they’re rioting_ , Gerard realizes. Maybe the riots weren’t planned at all. Maybe the rioters are just hungry citizens who are desperate and lashing out. If shipments really did get lost, there will be a lot of hungry people in the city.

*

The City virtually shuts down for three days.

The shipments did get lost, or stolen, or compromised. There is no clear word on what exactly happened, but that isn’t what matters. What matters is that an entire shipment of food and other goods is gone. Goods have gone missing here and there in the past, but never so much. It cripples the entire City.

After three days the City attempts to return to normal. Schools and most workplaces open again. There is still a nightly curfew, but things feel like they’re starting to get back to normal.

Gerard starts rationing their food immediately. He instructs Bandit not to talk to anyone about food or how much they have. They triple-check the locks every time they leave the apartment. On Friday, the news reports that the next shipment has been delayed indefinitely. Riots break out in every district.

That night, Mikey peeks out through the curtain at the desert stretched out as far as the eye can see. They’ve kept all curtains closed to avoid prying eyes seeing their food and deciding they might be a good target. Below the apartment is the skeleton of a burned-out car and the remnants of the barricade the rioters had created that day. They’d been nervously watching the events unfold all day, but now that everyone has retreated Mikey only has eyes for the desert landscape.

“Gerard,” he says quietly. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Gerard says. He sits on the bed and rests his head on Mikey’s shoulder. It feels bonier than usual. Gerard’s not sure if that’s because it is or because he’s imagining things. “Is something wrong?”

Mikey shakes his head. “No, just wanted you to know.”

Gerard studies him. Mikey’s expression is stone. Gerard hasn’t seen him this cold and detached in a while. He knows it’s one of Mikey’s defense mechanisms, when things get too tough or his emotions too powerful to deal with he detaches himself from the world. “You sure? There’s nothing you want to talk about?”

“You’re hungry.” Mikey pokes him lightly in his middle.

“No I’m not.” Gerard’s traitor stomach growls. “Okay, fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You should eat something. There’s leftovers in the fridge,” Mikey says.

“You should eat them. They’re _your_ leftovers.” Gerard pokes Mikey’s stomach, hoping it will growl. It doesn’t.

“I’m fine,” Mikey says. “I’d hate to see them go to waste.”

“Then you can eat them tomorrow.” Gerard pushes a lock of Mikey’s hair off his face. Mikey’s cheekbones look sharper, more pronounced. “Mikes, you’re not getting sick are you?”

That elicits a reaction, the first one tonight. Mikey’s eyes widen and he grabs Gerard’s hand. “No, definitely not. I feel just fine. Why would you think that?”

“Because you don’t look well,” Gerard says. He squeezes Mikey’s hand. “We just have to hang in there right now. Once the shipment’s start up again we’ll be just fine.”

“What if they don’t?” Mikey asks. “We have so little food already.”

“We still have enough that you can eat a full meal.”

“I don’t really think we do, Gee. What about Bandit?”

Gerard sighs. “Starving yourself is not that way to make sure Bandit gets fed.”

Mikey looks away. “Okay.”

It doesn’t sound like an agreement; it just sounds like Mikey don’t want to fight about it. “ _Mikey_.”

“I said okay, alright? And I’m not sick, either. That’s the last thing we need, I’m just-” Mikey flaps a hand “-tired, I guess. I’m going to sleep.”

Mikey hesitates, then leans forward and hugs Gerard. “I love you.”

Gerard clings to him. There’s another meaning behind the words, one Gerard doesn’t want to think about. He doesn’t want to let Mikey go, but eventually Mikey pulls away.

Gerard gets up and kisses Mikey lightly on his forehead. “I love you, too. Goodnight.”

*

The next morning Mikey is gone.

Gerard doesn’t even have to search the apartment; he knows Mikey isn’t there. He also knows Mikey won’t be coming back.

The thought makes him feel numb.

The numbness weighs on him through the weekend into the week. He drops Bandit off that school and walks to work in a cloud of sadness deferred.

His boss doesn’t ask about Mikey’s empty desk; which Gerard is grateful for. He does make a note of it on his clipboard, though. Gerard anticipates the desk will be occupied by the end of the week.

After work, Gerard has to race to pick up Bandit and drop her off at home before he runs to his second job. He arrives fifteen minutes late, but this job doesn’t have a boss constantly checking times sheets so he’s safe.

_I can do this_ , Gerard thinks, _Bandit’s old enough to be home alone. I can do just fine without Mikey_.

He holds onto that little piece of hope through his shift.

“Gerard,” Emma says, “we should head home before curfew.”

It’s late. Gerard sprints for home, intent on getting there before curfew. He doesn’t make it.

He gets accosted by a patrolman just a few blocks from his apartment.

The officer is a husky guy and he glares down at Gerard as if he were a bit of scum on the bottom of his boot.

“Sir, are you aware you are out past curfew?” He sneers.

“It’s not past curfew yet,” Gerard points out.

The officer glances down at his watch and Gerard can see him counting down the seconds. Gerard tries to get around him, but the officer puts a big meaty hand on his shoulder, detaining him.

“Let me go, I have to get home.” Gerard tries to wriggle away, but the officer tightens his hold.

“Oh, would you look at that?” The officer says in mock-surprise. “It’s nine o’clock and you are out past curfew. Do you know what that means?”

“I gave your mother a fantastic evening?” Gerard sort of expects the punch, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He doubles over, the fist to his gut knocking the wind out of him.

“Nope,” the officer says, cheerily. “It means a trip downtown. I know some boys who will give _you_ a _fantastic evening_ tonight.”

*

“C’mon, please let me out! I’ve learned my lesson, alright? Just let me go home!” Gerard rattles the bars for good measure.

“You keep carrying on like that, man, they’re never gonna let you outta here,” his cellmate says.

Gerard sighs heavily and slumps onto the bench with his cellmate.

When the officer dragged Gerard into the station, he had smiled and told Gerard his new ‘best friend’ was named Tiny. He’d then thrown Gerard in a cell with a guy who was a sheer mountain in size and locked him in, laughing all the while.

“Tiny,” whose name is actually Elliot, is a cool dude. He greeted Gerard politely and made some room for him on the small bench. Elliot has a low, calming voice. It soothes Gerard’s temper, even though he doesn’t want it to.

“Just relax,” Elliot tells him. “Stay calm, stay polite. Eventually someone else will come in and they’ll have to release you to make room for them.”

Gerard asks. “You’re here a lot, aren’t you?”

Elliot nods. “Almost every week. It’s fine. I get a free meal or two and everyone here is pretty nice, except for Officer Cocksucker, who you’ve met.”

Gerard smiles a little at the nickname. “I don’t have time for eventually. I have to get home now.”

“What’s your rush, man?” Elliot asks.

“He’s got a daughter to go home to, don’t you?” They both turn to see Officer Cocksucker looming in front of their cell. He’s smiling, wide and cruel.

“What have you done?” Gerard demands.

“Oh nothing,” he says lightly. “Though I _am_ obligated to report any situation of possible child endangerment to Social Services. You see, your City Records do state that you are a single father. Gosh, I hope that child hasn’t been left home alone _all night_.”

Gerard’s heart feels like it’s frozen solid.

“Man, that’s cruel,” Elliot says.

The officer shrugs. “I was just doing my job. But, y’know,” he unlocks the cell door, “if he’s quick he might just get home before Social Services gets there.”

The officer holds the door wide open. Gerard glances at Elliot, trying to figure out of this is a trap.

“Go, man,” Elliot insists. “Run.”

Gerard runs.

*

Gerard doesn’t make it.

When he gets home, the door is unlocked and there’s a notice plastered on it from Social Services. It states that a child has been removed from the premises due to alleged neglect. There is no contact information. Gerard knows why. Getting a child back from Social Services is impossible, literally impossible.

There are forms you can fill out and people you can talk to, but none of it works. Every parent who has ever tried is denied time and time again, until the child’s file is mysteriously lost and the parent has no further avenue to take. They have to give up.

Gerard removes the notice and enters the apartment. He goes to Bandit’s room, a part of him still hoping that this is some horrible nightmare. Hoping that he’ll open the door and Bandit will be there, waiting for him.

The room is empty.

Bandit is gone. So are her backpack and her favorite doll, even her bedsheets. Her closet door hangs open, completely cleared of its contents. The room looks exactly like it did when they first moved in. It’s almost as if Bandit never existed at all.

Gerard sits heavily on the bed, staring at the blank wall that used to be covered in Bandit’s artwork. There have been many times since the world as they knew it ended that Gerard has felt broken or defeated, but he’s always managed to keep going, to keep striving for something. Now Gerard sits in an empty apartment in a blank room that should be his daughter’s.

For the first time, he gives up.

*

Gerard wakes in the early evening with no recollection of having fallen asleep. The reality of his situation sits on him like a crushing weight. His daughter is gone, forever. She was his reason. She was what got him up every day and what kept him going through monotonous days at his dead end job. Now he has no one.

_Mikey._

The thought hits him like a bolt of electricity and he jumps up. He has Mikey, or he will. Mikey left and Gerard knows where he went. So, in the growing twilight, Gerard leaves his apartment and heads for the desert.

*

Getting to the desert takes more planning than Gerard prepared for. He doesn’t even know how to get out of the City. He knows there are exits, there have to be, but every road he follows eventually leads him back into the City’s center.

It’s now way past curfew and he is lost.

Mikey had a way out. He knew people who did. If Gerard can just find these people, they can help him, but where are they? He regrets every fight when he told Mikey he didn’t want to know about these “friends.”

Gerard is about to give up and head back to his apartment when he hears something. He pauses to listen. It’s music. Gerard hasn’t heard music in a long time. He immediately starts following the sound.

He’s getting closer. A few blocks and he’s able to discern that the music is louder and heavier, something rock or punk. Mikey’s sort of music. He’s so certain he should be following this music that he starts running.

Then the music cuts out.

It doesn’t end in a cacophonous howl of instruments as it would if the musicians had abruptly decided to stop. It ends more in a sudden absence of sound, as if someone pulled the monitor plug.

“No!” Gerard cries, “No no no no no. Shit.”

He continues running, hoping that whoever was making the music hasn’t disappeared as quickly as their sound did. He turns a corner and runs into someone. He ricochets back and lands on his ass.

“Oof! Whew, you better slow down there. I think you bruised my stomach.”

A hand appears and Gerard takes it, letting himself be hauled to his feet.

The guy he ran into is a lean, tall guy with a mop of blond hair. Gerard is really tired of being shorter than everyone. He’s not even that short to begin with.

Blondie has a friend with him who is - thankfully - shorter than Gerard. He’s squat and stocky, but he gives Gerard an easy smile.

“Did you hear it?” The shorter one asks.

Gerard nods, still a little stunned from the impact.

“What do you think?”

Gerard wonders if they want him to critique the music or if they’re asking him something else.

“It stopped,” Gerard says a little dumbly. “Why did it stop?”

Blondie claps him on the shoulder, smiling broadly. “You want more?”

Gerard nods.

“Well, c’mon.”

The pair lead Gerard into an alleyway and down a flight of steps into a basement. A part of Gerard’s brain intent on self-preservation screams at him to flee, but he ignores it. He’s not going back to an empty apartment, he can’t.

“Yo, Brandy!” Blondie calls as they enter. “You got a new one.”

The basement is a speakeasy. Against the back wall is an impressive bar with a woman behind it prepping drinks. To the right is a raised platform with a handful of musicians tearing down equipment. They greet the arrivals with friendly shouts. There are a few other patrons in the speakeasy, but no more than a dozen or so.

The bartender greets him with a warm hello. Gerard recognizes her. She was the woman who saved him from being beaten to a pulp during the riots. She recognizes him as well.

“Oh my gosh! Never thought I’d see you here. Come in, come in.” She waves him forward.

“I, uh--”

His escorts push him towards the bar and sit him on a stool.

“What’ll you have?” The woman -- Brandy, it seems -- asks.

“I don’t--”

She interrupts. “First drink’s on the house.”

“Okay, but I don’t--”

“No alcohol?”

Gerard shakes his head.

“That’s fine. I can get you whatever you like.”

Gerard shrugs. “I don’t know wh--”

“Let me just make you something, and if you don’t like it I’ll make you something else.”

Brandy whips up something she calls a Sweet Ivy, which looks like a forest-green slushie with a sweet lemon tang to it. She gives him the drink and pulls up a stool on her side of the bar.

“So, what brings you out this way? Is Mechanic’s Corner getting too boring for you?”

“I need to get to the desert,” Gerard blurts out.

Brandy’s eyes widen. “Good God, why?”

“My brother’s out there, I need to find him.”

“Who’s your brother?” She asks.

“Mikey. Mikey W--”

“Way,” she interrupts. “Oh my gosh. Gerard Way. Mikey Way. I never made the connection.”

“What’s this about Mikey?”

The musicians have finished packing up and are gathered around the bar. They cluster around Gerard.

“This is Mikey’s brother,” Brandy explains. “He says Mikey went into the desert.”

“Sure did,” a shorter, Hispanic musician says. “Few days ago. Dude owed me money, too. I ain’t never gonna get that back.”

“Sure ’nough,” another musician says. “No one comes back from the desert.”

“You know him?” Gerard asks. “Do you know where he went?”

They all shrug.

“It’s the desert, man,” the Hispanic musician says. “It’s crazy. Only crazy people go out there.”

Gerard can’t believe it. Here he is, surrounded by Mikey’s friends, and none of them want to leave the City like Mikey did.

“But…” Gerard flounders. “But you’re all anti-government, aren’t you?”

There are a smattering of nods and affirmative comments.

“Yet none of you want to leave the City?”

“Dude,” the second musician says. “We want to change the world, but we don’t want to die.”

“Mikey was willing to,” Gerard says, his tone raises so it comes out sounding like a question.

A third musician with a full sleeve of tattoos chimes in. “He did it for you, too. He heard about the second shipment being compromised. He always wanted to leave, but especially because he thought he’d be a burden. Leaving meant more food for you and your girl, eh?”

Gerard looks down at his drink. “They took her. I left her alone to go to my second job and Social Services took her away.”

Brandy gasps, covering her mouth in shock. Everyone else around him has looks of horror on their faces.

Brandy says. “Oh my gosh, Gerard, I’m so--”

“I need to find Mikey. Please. He’s all I have left.”

“Okay, okay,” Brandy says. “We have someone who can help you.” She looks to the musician with the sleeve tattoo. “Would you take him?”

Gerard bids the others, including his two escorts, goodbye and follows the musician up a flight of rickety wooden steps to another room.

There’s a man at the desk and for a second Gerard thinks it’s Steve, Lindsey’s bandmate, but then he looks up and his face is definitely different. This guy would win a lookalike contest, though. Gerard half expects him to be in a motorized wheelchair and introduce himself as Dr. Death Defying, but he doesn’t. Instead he stands and greets Gerard with a firm handshake.

“Gerard, pleasure to meet you. Can’t say I’m surprised. Mikey’s gone already, he’s in the desert and he has no intention of coming back, he was clear on that. I’m Satellite, by the way.”

“You know you look like--”

“Dr. Death Defying? Mikey said the same thing. I thought about taking the name, but I’m no desert DJ.”

Gerard nods. “So you can help me get into the Zones, er, the desert? Brandy said you could.”

Satellite smirks. “She’s a fine girl.”

Gerard is confused for a moment until he realizes Satellite is quoting song lyrics. He wonders if Brandy is even her real name.

“Yes, I can get you out into the desert. When do you want to leave?” He starts flipping through a datebook on the desk.

“Uh, tonight?” Gerard says.

Satellite smirks. “You Ways, so impulsive. Alright, come with me.”

Satellite leads Gerard through the City and back to Mechanic’s Corner. It’s late, so late that it’s more like early morning when they reach the auto shop on the wall. The building is built quite literally against the City wall, which is probably against City ordinances, but the road to reach it is more of an alleyway than anything. It’s doubtful the shop gets noticed by the City much at all.

Inside the shop is another person Gerard recognizes, Balaclava. Even though his head was covered the first time they met Gerard recognizes his stance and gruff speech. He looks Gerard over, there’s no recognition in his eyes like there was for Brandy.

“The fuck’s this, Satellite?” He says. “We plantin’ pansies in the desert now?”

Gerard punches him. He doesn’t make the conscious effort to do so, but he’s mad. The first time he met this clown, he made Gerard look like a fool. One of the last memories Bandit is ever going to have of her father is the sight of him being knocked to the ground by this guy, defenseless and weak. Now here he is again insulting Gerard. It pisses him off.

Gerard’s fist lands solidly on the guy’s gut and sends him reeling. Gerard’s hand aches from the blow, but he tries not to let it show.

“Careful there, Bruce.” Satellite laughs. “He’s Mikey’s brother. Looks like ‘spitfire’ is a family trait.”

“What was that for?” Bruce asks, gripping his stomach.

“First day of the riots,” Gerard says. “I had my daughter with me.”

Bruce’s mouth opens in a comical ‘o’ which sets Satellite off laughing again.

“Brucey-boy, are you beating people up again?” He jokes.

Bruce glares at him, then says to Gerard. “Y’know your brother already got me back for that?”

Bruce pulls aside his hair and reveals a stitched up wound on his forehead, just shy of his temple, a massive yellowing bruise surrounding it.

“Got my head smashed against an engine block. A parting gift courtesy of Mikey.”

“I could give you another parting gift,” Gerard offers.

Bruce raises his hands defensively and takes a step back. “That’s not necessary. What do you need?”

Satellite answers for him. “He wants to follow his brother. Where did you send him?”

“To a trading post five miles out,” Bruce says. “Due east. Just follow the sunrise, you’ll see it.”

Bruce shows Gerard to a hidden door tucked behind some shelving.

“Just go through there and you’re out. And hey, man?” Bruce grabs Gerard’s hand, curling it into a loose fist. “Keep your fist open when you punch. Hurts less.”


	3. 3

The sun is hot.

That’s obvious, but Gerard was completely unprepared for how intensely, mind-numbingly hot the desert sun actually is. He wonders why he never noticed the heat in the City, then decides it doesn’t matter because he’s out here now, with the heat.

Gerard has been walking into the light of the rising desert sun for what feels like forever. Based on the angle of the sun, though, it can’t possibly be midday yet.

Gerard doesn’t want to know what midday heat feels like.

He’s exhausted. He’s been up all night and now the heat is draining the rest of his energy. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep. He has to keep reminding himself that that would be a very bad idea.

There’s something in the distance, a blot on the horizon. As Gerard gets closer the blot coalesces itself into a building. The trading post, he assumes.

The building was an impressive structure at one point. Now most of the paint has been worn away and sections of the roof are gone, those areas now covered in tarps. In front where once was probably a large window is now boarded up and covered in flyers. Gerard takes a moment to look at a few. Some are missing posters, large block letters asking ‘have you seen?’ followed by a picture or two. Among the missing are cats, dogs, and even a hamster. One is for a child, the accompanying picture is of a curly blond-haired boy with an open-mouthed smile, cake smeared across his face. The poster is dated over nine months ago.

Inside the building the main floor space is cluttered by haphazardly placed furniture: chests of drawers, cabinets, armoires, among others. Gerard spots a glass-doored cabinet holding stacks of food cans. He tugs a handle, but it’s locked.

“They're all locked.”

Gerard spins around. There is a man standing behind a counter watching Gerard.

“Problems with theft, y’know?” The man explains. “Gotta be careful.”

Gerard nods.

“First uproot, Tumbleweed?” The man asks.

Gerard nods. “I need--”

“Of course you do. What do you have to offer?”

Gerard approaches the counter and digs out his wallet. He pulls out the few wrinkled bills that he has left and offers them out. The tradesman rolls his eyes.

“That ain’t worth shit out here. Use it for kindling. That’s about all it’s good for.”

Not surprising. Gerard starts stuffing the money back in his wallet, but changes his mind. Instead he pulls out his ID and offers the empty wallet. The tradesman examines it.

“Cheap, poorly made,” he states, dropping the wallet on the counter. “It’ll get you one can of beans. I’ll even throw in a fork since I assume you don’t have one.”

“A bottle of water as well,” Gerard says, “and sunscreen.”

“Don’t get greedy now. One crummy wallet ain’t worth that.”

Gerard doesn’t respond. He knows the wallet is shit, but he doesn’t have anything else to trade. He has to stretch this wallet as far as it will go.

The tradesman sighs. “I’m getting soft,” he mumbles.

He grabs the wallet and digs through cabinets and drawers, dropping the wallet in one as he goes. He returns and places on the counter a can of beans, a fork, an eight-ounce bottle of water, and a miniscule tube of sunscreen.

“That’s it?” Gerard asks.

“For that shitty wallet? Yeah. This is fucking generous. Take it or leave it.”

Gerard takes it. Of course he does.

“Do you have anything I could use to open this?” Gerard asks, noticing the can requires an opener.

The tradesman points to a small table with a handheld can opener chained to it to prevent theft.

Gerard settles on the porch with his breakfast, thankful for the shade the awning provides. Ho doesn’t have much of a plan, but when he finishes his food he’ll go ask the tradesman for directions to the nearest town.

Off in the distance Gerard spots a small dust cloud. He watches it for a while and realizes it’s being created by vehicles heading towards the trade post. Moments after he makes this realization the tradesman pokes his head out of the door.

“Make yourself scarce,” he warns Gerard. “Those are Killjoys.”

Killjoys. Perfect. Gerard finishes up quickly and waits for them to arrive. The tradesman returns once more to warn Gerard to get out of Dodge.

“It’s okay,” Gerard tells him. “They’re what I’m waiting for.”

The tradesman gives him a look as if he thinks Gerard might have a few screws loose. “Man, you got a death wish.”

Gerard is about to ask him what he means by that, but the vehicles arrive and the tradesman flees inside.

The vehicle in the rear is a dune buggy, low to the ground with no siding to speak of. Two people are seated inside. The lead vehicle is a Trans Am. She’s graffitied all over with many designs Gerard doesn’t recognize, but one he does. On the hood is prominently displayed the Killjoy Spider. Two people climb out of the Trans Am. None of the four are Mikey. Gerard’s heart drops a little. He had hoped Mikey would be with these people. Maybe he is, though, maybe this is only a small portion of the group and Mikey is with the others.

Gerard raises his hand to greet them, but stops. Not as single Killjoy looks over the age of twenty. The oldest, a tall, dark-haired boy, looks to be in his older teen years. The youngest, a petite girl with hair the pale blue of a summer sky, looks no older than twelve or thirteen.

What makes Gerard second guess his greeting is that all of them are carrying guns. Most have handguns on leg holsters, but the oldest has an assault rifle slung casually over his shoulder. Gerard finds himself shrinking back onto the far side of the porch as they approach.

The others pass by without a second glance, but the small sky-haired girl walks right up to him. She’s wearing one of My Chem’s t-shirts, the one with all the Killjoy mug shots.

“You’re Party Poison.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Gerard nods.

*

The Killjoy’s home is a compound of buildings sharing a stretch of ancient highway. Gerard imagines it was once a small desert town.

Sky Runner, the little blue-haired Killjoy, parades him through the compound. She happily tells everyone she sees that “this is Party Poison. Look, I found Party Poison.” It’s cute.

Their mini-parade ends at the steps of a squat building. The word ‘Sheriff’ can still be seen on the side of the building, but all other identifying words have been torn off and graffitied over. There is another girl waiting for them. She, too, looks young and is easily a head shorter than Gerard, but her stance holds an air of command. He hair is a bright Party Poison red and the first thing Gerard thinks of is Val Velocity. She is clearly the boss.

“Nyx! Nyx, look! I found Party Poison.” Sky Runner bounces happily, tugging on Gerard’s arm. Gerard has to steady himself to keep from being pulled off his feet.

“So you did,” Nyx says, smiling at the little Killjoy. “Why don’t you let go of his arm before you yank it out of its socket?”

Sky lets go. Gerard rolls his shoulder experimentally, nothing hurts.

“Now yinz get back to your chores, let Party Poison and me talk.”

Sky whines. “But can’t I--”

Nyx points away and states firmly. “Go.”

Sky leaves and Gerard follows Nyx into the building. Once inside Gerard extends his hand for a proper greeting.

“I’m Gerard Way, or Party Poison, I suppose.”

“Yes, I know.” She shakes his hand with a bemused expression. “I’m River Nyx.”

“Like the River Styx?”

Nyx rolls her eyes. “Yes, I suppose.”

“I like your hair,” Gerard says.

Nyx runs her fingers through her vibrant hair. She goes to a cabinet and retrieves a few boxes of red hair dye, handing them over to Gerard.

“You’ll need these now. You can use the bathroom. I’ll see if I can find you more suitable clothes.”

“Wait,” Gerard says. “I’m not. I’m looking for my brother, Mikey, Kobra Kid. Is he here? Can I see him first?”

Nyx shrugs and shakes her head. “No, I haven’t seen Kobra Kid.”

She leaves him to absorb that news.

*

Gerard dyes his hair in one of the shower stalls in the locker room. When he’s finished he returns to the main lobby to find that Nyx is already back with a change of clothes for him. He changes into the pair of light blue jeans, black shirt, and pair of well-worn boots. He hesitates over the leg holster, but straps it on anyway.

“We avoid the general populace having weapons while in the compound. You understand.”

Gerard nods. As a general rule he dislikes guns and has no desire to handle one. Being out in the desert and lacking fictitious ray guns, though, he understands the practicality of having them. The thought of having to fill the empty holster on his leg still makes him nervous.

“Are you sure you don’t know where Kobra Kid is?” Gerard asks.

Nyx nods. “Absolutely sure. We have our eyes peeled for you guys. We’ve been waiting for yinz.”

“Waiting?”

Nyx leads Gerard to another building. This one has the word “museum” carefully painted over whatever was there before. Inside there are four mannequins on display. The first one to the farthest right has Fun Ghoul’s symbol painted on its face. It’s wearing a green vest that looks identical to the one Frank wore for their music videos. The next one is wearing Kobra Kid’s outfit. It is almost complete and has the motorcycle helmet on its head. The only missing piece is the jacket. The third is stripped completely bare save for a Party Poison mask. The final one has a replica Jet Star jacket and a pair of jeans with a blue holster strapped to the leg.

Nyx retrieves the mask from the third mannequin. It looks like the ones they sent out to people who ordered the Danger Days box set.

“This is yours, if you want it.” Nyx offers Gerard the mask.

Gerard takes it. He pulls it on, letting the mask rest on his forehead. “Thank you. I’ll be careful with it.”

“A few of the others are working on completing your jacket right now,” she explains. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the rest of your group is?”

Gerard shakes his head. “Mikey, er, Kobra Kid is out there somewhere. But Jet Star and Fun Ghoul? Haven’t seen them since Before.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gerard nods, swallowing the lump he can feel forming in his throat. “I try not to think about it.”

*

Dinner is a community affair.

The entire compound of Killjoys settles in to what was a gym. The group fills three long tables, still it’s not that large of a group, perhaps a couple dozen. Most look to be in their mid-teens. Only a select few seem to be pushing twenty. It makes Gerard feel old.

Nyx offers him a seat at the head of the table. He declines at first, but she insists. By the looks of surprise from the others Gerard gets the feeling that he is taking her seat.

Nyx sits to his right. Sky attempts to sit next to his left, but gets shoved down to the end of the table by Killjoys of higher authority than her. Seating is clearly decided by a hierarchy and Gerard has been pushed to the top simply by being Party Poison.

Nyx announces to the gathered Killjoys who Gerard is and names him their leader.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Gerard whispers to her urgently. “I’m not the leader here, you are.”

“But you’re Party Poison. You’re leader of the Killjoys.”

Gerard groans in aggravation. “But I don’t --”

“Look,” she snaps quietly, shutting Gerard up. “I can help you lead. You can be like the Queen of England, a figurehead, but these people are Killjoys and they want Party Poison to lead them.”

“Okay,” Gerard sighs.

*

The next day Nyx decides to take Gerard out on a trip. She’s dyed her hair blue, but with the red underneath it come out looking quite dark, and a little purple. On the walk to the car Gerard asks her about the ages of the Killjoys.

“Sky’s the youngest, she’s twelve,” Nyx says. “Unless you count Battery Kid’s son, he’s two.”

“How old is Battery Kid?”

“Seventeen.” Nyx sounds sad to admit it. “No help for teen moms in the City, y’know?”

“And who’s the oldest?”

“Me,” Nyx says, simply.

“How old are you?” Gerard prompts.

“Don’t be a jagoff, Party. Don’t you know you’re not supposed to ask a lady’s age?”

Gerard chuckles. “Okay, well I’m just going to assume I am older than all of you by at least two decades.”

“Oh not quite that much,” she admits.

Gerard wants to press her further, but they have arrived at the car where the dark-haired teen from yesterday it waiting for them. He still has his assault rifle with him. Gerard was introduced to him properly last night. His name is Duke Daredevil and he’s one of Nyx’s handful of ‘officers.’

Nyx gives Gerard the front seat and climbs into the back. Duke takes the wheel.

“Where are we going?” Gerard asks.

“You’ll see,” Nyx says mysteriously. “You’ll like it, don’t worry.”

*

They bring Gerard to a radio station in the middle of nowhere. Gerard supposes it was in the middle of somewhere at one point, but all the surrounding buildings have either collapsed or are leaning precariously.

Nyx knocks twice rapidly on the station doors and enters without waiting for a response. Gerard follows while Duke waits by the car.

“Hey, boys, hey!” She calls. “I brought someone I thought yinz might like to meet.”

A guy pokes his head out from another doorway. He’s dark-skinned and tall. Gerard feels like he knows this guy, but he can’t remember where from. The guy is wearing a sour expression, but he perks up when he sees Gerard.

“Oh, hey! Fancy meeting you out here in the desert.” He ducks back into the room and Gerard can hear his voice. “Andy, yo, Andy, take off the headset and come see.”

Gerard follows the guy, doing a mental checklist of all the Andys he knows. He’d be glad to see any of the right now.

In the other room, at the sound board with a headset clamped firmly over his head, is Andy Hurley.

Andy, finally roused from whatever he was focused on, turns around and freezes, looking stunned by Gerard’s presence.

“Hey,” Gerard says, happy to see someone he knows.

“Gee!” Andy shoves his headset into his friend's hands and grabs Gerard in a crushing hug.

Gerard and Andy had never been that close, but they are both so thankful to see someone they knew from Before alive and well. They hug for a while until Andy pulls away, struck by a thought.

“Matt! Did you ever meet Matt?”

Gerard shrugs.

Andy waves at his companion. “This is Matt Mixon, he’s been my best friend since… high school? Middle school? Well, whatever. Now you’ve met.”

Gerard and Matt share a wave and a greeting.

“Have you seen anyone else out here?” Andy asks.

Nyx butts in. “That’s what we were hoping to ask yinz. Party Poison’s looking for someone.”

Andy doesn’t spare her a glance, instead he responds as if Gerard had spoken.

“Who?”

“Kobra Kid,” Nyx responds, ignoring the rebuke.

Andy glances at her momentarily, then speaks to Gerard.

“No, I haven’t heard anything from _Mikey_ , but I’ll be sure to keep an ear out.”

“Thank you,” Gerard says.

“It's no trouble. I’m listening to chatter from all reachable airwaves. Are you sure he’s out here?”

Gerard nods. “Yes. He left for the desert. I followed a few days later. There was nothing left for me in the City.”

Andy looks like he’s about to ask about Gerard’s family, but he doesn’t. Gerard’s thankful for it.

“I’ll keep an ear out. If he’s using a radio, I’ll find him.”

Gerard asks. “What about your band?”

Andy’s entire body seems to sag. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, all day, every day, listening.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We should go,” Nyx interjects. “We have a lot to do today.”

Gerard starts to walk back to her, but Andy grabs his arm.

“I’m sure you do,” Andy says in a voice that sounds forcibly civil. “Gerard can stay with us. We wouldn’t mind the company.”

Nyx’s tone is less than civil. “Party Poison is needed back at the compound.”

“Surely he’s not necessary--”

“Andy, it’s fine,” Gerard cuts in, gently prying Andy’s hand off his arm. “I’ve got a place there. I’d hate to impose on you. I’ll visit as much as I can.”

“Fine,” Andy says, “but come by. Anytime. I’m serious.”

Gerard gives him a final parting hug and the Killjoys head back to the compound.

*

When they return to the compound a small group of Killjoys present Gerard with a Party Poison jacket.

“Sorry, we couldn’t find leather,” the lavender-haired young girl apologizes.

The jacket is fashioned out of some sort of raincoat material, light and rubbery. The decorations are hand-sewn fabric. The sleeves are stiffer than his one for the video was and are harder to roll up, but the lightness of the material might be better out here than leather would be.

“Thank you,” Gerard says. “It’s amazing.”


	4. 4

Gerard falls into a routine at the compound. Being the leader he has no set ‘chores’ or focused skillset. Instead he bounces from job to job assisting the other Killjoys anywhere he can lend a hand. Anything from holding a lamp for the mechanic as he works on an engine to babysitting Battery Kid’s son for a few hours.

His duties as ‘leader’ feel like being a parent. He’ll never get to raise Bandit through her teen years, but now he has three dozen other teens to raise.

Sometimes it’s enough.

Once a week he takes a motorcycle out to visit Andy and Matt. Vehicle usage is sort of a pool, anyone can request any vehicle, but when Gerard started favoring the bike the others started leaving it aside so it was always available for him. Gerard thought he would prefer the Trans Am, but the bike just feels better to him. Driving with the open air makes it easier to lose himself, for a time anyway.

Andy still hasn’t found Mikey or the rest of Fall Out Boy despite his relentless searching. As hard as it is for Gerard to accept the disappointment every week it’s even harder for Andy. Sometimes Matt will stop Gerard at the door and say, “today’s not a good day, Gee. Come back next week.”

Most weeks Andy will pass off radio duty to Matt for an hour or two and he and Gerard will reminisce and chat about life.

Once Gerard tells him a story about painting the side of a Killjoy’s house. The resident who requested the art is named Toxic Ivy so Gerard covered the side of the building in long ropes of ivy, decorating the ivy with a plethora of other tropical plants and animals as well. When Toxic Ivy saw his work she could barely contain her joy. She hugged him for an uncomfortably long time and gave him a pile of hoarded comics and a canvas stand she’s been using as a coatrack as a thank you.

“So they’re good to you?” Andy asks when Gerard finishes his story. “You like it over there?”

“Yeah, I feel like I have a purpose. I never felt like I had much of a purpose in the City.”

“They don’t treat you bad at all?”

Gerard stares at him in confusion. “No, why?”

Andy shrugs. “No reason.” He changes the subject. “Have you thought about where Mikey might’ve gone?”

Gerard shakes his head. “No idea.”

“Friends who would’ve been out here to meet him when he came?”

“I don’t think so,” Gerard says, remembering Satellite and everyone else he met who had never set foot outside the City. “I think he was flying just as blind as I was.”

“So neither of you were given any sort of assistance when you left?”

“They just told me how to get to…” Gerard gasps. “The trading post! They told me how to get to the trading post and said they’d given Mikey the same directions.”

“He must’ve been there. Maybe the tradesman remembers him,” Andy says.

“I should go.” Gerard jumps to his feet, then pauses. “I don’t remember how to get there.”

“Then go back to the compound,” Andy suggests. “Someone there knows, obviously. Ask them. It’s late anyway. You can go to the trading post tomorrow.”

*

Gerard intends to bring up a trip to the trading post to Nyx after dinner. Before he can she pulls him aside.

“Have you been to the gun range yet?” She asks.

“Yes.” It’s a half-truth. He’s been to the range and he’s listened to Duke’s gun lectures, but he has never actually fired or even handled a gun.

“Good. You and I and Duke are going scouting tomorrow. I want you to have a gun. We probably won’t need it, but just in case.”

“Oh,” Gerard says sadly. “I was hoping to go to the trading post tomorrow.”

Nyx halts. “Why?”

Gerard hesitates Nyx has completely tensed up and her tone is interrogative.

“A lead. For finding Kobra Kid.” He deliberately uses Mikey’s Killjoy name, hoping to appease her. At the same time, he’s not sure why he feels like he should appease her.

“Oh.” She starts walking again. “This scouting has to be done first, I’m afraid. But we’ll be heading to the trading post in a couple of weeks, you can go then.”

“I can’t wait a couple of weeks. Whatever lead I can get might not be good by then. Take someone else scouting.”

“You’ve been here for months already. That lead might’ve already gone cold,” she counters.

“I can’t risk waiting--”

Nyx turn on him. “You are coming with me and Duke on a scouting mission. Tomorrow. You are not going anywhere else and no one is going to the trading post until I say so. Is that clear?”

Gerard glares at her. “I thought I was the leader here?”

She grabs him by the shirt and drags him down to her eye-level. “You want to be the leader?” She growls. “Take a look at our food stores. You’ll see they’re a little low. We’re gonna need to fill them up soon, real soon, or else people are going to start starving. You probably didn’t notice because you were too busy painting pretty pictures.”

“I didn’t--”

She jabs a finger at his chest. “You wanna be a leader? You help us scout. Got it?”

Gerard nods.

“Good. Be ready bright and early tomorrow.”

*

Gerard is ready, dressed in full Party Poison outfit and waiting by the Trans Am as dawn breaks over the desert. Nyx and Duke arrive shortly after.

Nyx accosts him, looking murderous.

“You told me you had gun training,” she snaps.

“No, you asked if I had been to the gun range, which I had.”

“You know damn well what I meant when I asked that. You’re no idiot.”

Gerard shrugs. “Well, what can we do about it now? I suppose you can’t take an untrained person out scouting.”

Nyx steps back in surprise that only lasts for a moment. Then she grins. Gerard decides that her grin is scarier than her yelling.

“Oh you’re still coming. Get in.”

Gerard hesitates. “What about a gun?”

Dukes speaks. “Nobody is allowed to be equipped with a weapon until they are properly trained.”

“So I have to go out there unarmed?”

“Yes,” Nyx says, firmly. “You really should’ve thought about that before you lied to me. Now get in, Jagoff.”

Gerard does. He crawls into the backseat, Nyx takes the front seat, and Duke takes the wheel.

Gerard tells himself that he’ll be okay. It’ll be just as safe as visiting Andy at the station. They wouldn’t let him die. He’s their leader, their Party Poison. They want him. As Killjoys they need him.

_Of course_ , a dark part of his brain warns, _you’re just as useful as a martyr_.

*

The area they scout is a section of train tracks running right along a river. Gerard hasn’t seen a river in a long time, since Before. Even then he rarely paid attention to them.

What river is it?” Gerard asks.

“Don’t know.” Nyx shrugs. Her anger is forgotten, or at least subdued. “Never was good with the rivers, but I do know that over there—” she points at the far shore “—is Arizona.”

“No shit,” Gerard says, awed. “That’s so cool.”

Nyx laughs. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“It’s so neat, though, using the river as a natural border.”

Nyx pats him on the shoulder. She leaves her hand resting on his shoulder for a moment then runs it down his back before moving away. Gerard feels an instinctive desire to flinch away from her touch.

The scouting mission involves inspecting track through an abandoned town. After that they sweep through the houses, checking for any squatters. Thankfully, they don’t find any.

“So what are we doing this for?” Gerard asks Duke as they sweep through a building while Nyx waits outside for anything they might flush out.

Duke shoots him an incredulous look. “We have to make sure the buildings are secure.”

“Are we going to move in here of something?” Gerard jokes. Living closer to the river might be beneficial, but not a single house is in habitable condition.

“No, they serve as our hideouts so the train doesn’t know we’re here until we strike.”

Gerard stares at him. “We’re going to rob a train?”

Duke raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? Where else do you think we get food?”

Gerard hadn’t actually thought much about it, but the compound does have a pretty expansive garden. “You grow it?”

“We do grow some, yes,” Duke says. “But we can’t live on just fruit and vegetables. We need meat, bread, medicine, anything we can’t grow in our gardens.”

“So you rob trains.”

Duke shrugs. “We take what we need to survive. We’re like Robin Hood, robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

*

If Gerard believed he was forgiven for his lie he realized his mistake the very next day when a new compound rule was announced, approved with Party Poison’s logo.

_No person may leave the compound unless they have been properly trained in gun safety and use._

Most of the Killjoys found the rule laughable because they were all trained. They couldn’t understand why the rule was put in place, but Gerard knew. He started his gun training that day.

*

At the end of the week Gerard, now trained and armed, heads to the garage for his bike. He’s overdue for a visit to Andy.

The Killjoy manning the garage -- a tall, thin girl with purple hair -- stops him. “Vehicles are only allowed for authorized reasons. Sorry.”

She doesn’t look sorry; she looks like someone far too pleased with her small modicum of power. Gerard is fed up with being bossed around this week. He pulls himself up to his full height and speaks firmly.

“I am your leader; I am in charge. If I say I need a vehicle, then I am authorized to take one.”

Without waiting for a response he marches past her and gets his bike.

As soon as he arrives at the station Andy is out the door to meet him.

“I need you to take me somewhere. I heard some chatter I need to check out.”

“Is it about Mikey?” Gerard asks.

Andy shakes his head. “No, it’s… it’s for me. I… it’s something I have to check out.”

_It’s about your band_ , Gerard realizes, _and it’s not good_.

“Okay, get on.”

They stop occasionally so Andy can check his compass to make sure they’re headed in the right direction. During these breaks Gerard fills Andy in on his issues with Nyx about the guns and how she has kept him from visiting the trading post.

“She’s dangerous,” Andy warns.

Despite his misgivings, Gerard shrugs it off. “I don’t think she’s that bad. I just need to make it clear that I’m in charge. It worked today with the other Killjoy.”

“Are you, though?” Andy asks. “Are you in charge?”

“She named me leader,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, she did. She gave you the power and she can take it away, too.”

“No she can’t,” Gerard scoffs. “I’m fucking Party Poison. The other Killjoys will never choose her over me.”

Andy shrugs. “Man, I hope you’re right.”

Eventually they make it to a vast desert.

“Is this Death Valley?” Gerard asks.

Andy shakes his head. “No, we’re not that far, but this is the Mojave.”

They’ve come to a stop at a small copse of desert trees in the midst of dry scrubland.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Gerard asks.

“I’m sure. Let’s spread out and start looking.”

“What are we looking for?”

Andy takes a deep breath. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

They head into the trees. Gerard glances around, not sure what he’s looking for. His foot catches on something and he loses his balance and falls. He lands in front of a wooden cross staked into the ground. The thing he tripped over was a cross as well, one that had fallen over. Both have names carved into them. They aren’t just crosses, they’re grave markers.

This is a graveyard.

Gerard shudders. He gives himself a few moments to process that revelation then climbs to his feet and continues. He carefully checks the names carved into the crosses as he walks. Every time he reads a name he doesn’t recognize he feels a mix of relief that it isn’t someone he knows and dread that the next name very well might be.

“Gee,” Andy calls and by his wrecked voice Gerard knows he’s found what they were looking for.

Gerard weaves his way over to where Andy is kneeling in front of one of the wooden crosses. Gerard kneels next to him. The crosses horizontal plank of wood is much wider than the vertical stake and the string holding them together is failing under the weight so that the big plank hangs at an angle. Still, Gerard can clearly read the name.

_Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III_.

“Oh Andy,” Gerard says. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe it,” Andy whispers. “I just can’t. What if he was alive and I could’ve prevented it? If I had tried harder, I could have found him sooner.”

“Andy this isn’t your fault.” Gerard drags Andy into a hug. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at these graves, none of them are new. They’re all packed down, the markers are in disrepair. It’s been a while.”

Andy nods. Gerard’s not sure if Andy believes him, or if he’s just accepting a bit of solace.

“Do you have string?” Andy asks. “I want to fix this.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gerard doesn’t have any string, but he cuts off the bottom hem of his shirt so Andy can tie the cross back together.

Gerard steps away to give Andy some privacy. He wanders around the graveyard, still glancing at the names with morbid curiosity. A few yards away movement catches his eye. There’s something in one of the trees. Gerard approaches it slowly, hand hovering over his holstered gun, ready to grab it if needed. It could be something harmless, but it might not be. As he gets closer, though, he can tell the thing is inanimate, only moving when the breeze catches it. Gerard approaches much faster and discovers it’s a hat. He yanks it out of the tree to inspect it. It’s a fedora now dusty, crumpled, and sun-bleached.

Gerard returns to Andy to share his find.

“It’s Patrick’s,” Andy announces, studying that hat.

“How can you tell? A lot of people own fedoras.”

Andy flips the hat over and points to a couple of spots of bleach stain. “Joe did that when he was cleaning one time. Patrick was so pissed. This is Patrick’s. He must’ve left it at the grave. He must’ve…”

“Buried Pete,” Gerard finished for him.

Andy grabs Gerard’s arm. “I need to get back to the station. He’s alive and I need to find him.”

*

The station is on fire.

Gerard can’t believe it, neither can Andy. He stops the bike and Andy leaps off.

“Matt!” He screams, running towards the inferno. “Matt!”

“Party!”

Nyx is calling to him. She stands off, a safe distance from the blaze, with a handful of other Killjoys. Nyx waves a hand and two bigger boys catch Andy and drag him away.

“Where’s Matt?” Gerard demands.

Nyx shrugs. “We didn’t see--”

Gerard grabs her shoulders and shakes her. “What did you do?”

Gerard runs for the station. If Matt is in there he has to get him out. Andy is still screaming and fighting the boys holding him back.

“Hold him,” Gerard says. “Don’t let him follow me.”

“Party!”

Nyx has followed him. She offers Gerard a bandana and a pair of goggles, already wearing her own set. Gerard ties the bandana around his nose and mouth and pulls on the goggles.

“After you.” Nyx waves him forward.

Gerard grabs the handle, but the metal is scorching hot. He yanks his hand away, but some of his skin stays behind, ripping open a massive blister on his palm.

“It’s too late, Party, the fire’s too big.”

Gerard ignores her. He kicks the door, it heaves, but doesn’t cave. On the seconds kick it busts in and a sudden burst of flames engulfs the doorway. Gerard is dragged back and thrown to the ground. Nyx frantically grinds dust into his hair to put out the flames. Gerard crawls to his feet just in time to see the station roof cave in.

Nyx puts a hand on his shoulder. “No one could’ve survived that, Party. I’m sorry.”

Gerard shoves her, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

“Why?” He snaps. “Why did you do this?”

“It wasn’t me.” She crawls to her feet, brushing off dirt and sand. “We were just looking for you. The place was an inferno before we got here. I don’t know who did it and I tried to help you. Don’t blame me.”

Gerard wants to. He wants to scream and fight until he has no more energy to move. Then he wants to run until he finds Mikey and the world stops being so awful. But he can’t.

Matt is gone, it’s too late to help him, but Andy is homeless and he needs Gerard’s help. Plus, they still need to find Mikey and Patrick.

Gerard sighs heavily. “Nyx, take us back to the compound.”


	5. 5

Gerard enters their house, locking the door behind him.

“Hey, Andy. How was your day? We pulled a successful train heist today. I brought you some more food. I found a radio, too. It’s just a regular AM/FM, not a HAM or a CB radio. I know it won’t be much help, but I just…

“Nyx took a crew to the trading post without me. Again. She won’t ask about Mikey, she never does. I don’t think she wants me to find Mikey. I don’t know why she would want that, but she’s been putting in a lot of effort to keep me from the trading post.

“Do you remember who told you about the graveyard in the Mojave? They might know where Patrick is. If you could just tell me…

“The Killjoys caused the food shortage in the City. They derailed a whole train. That’s how they’ve been doing so well with food and supplies. Nyx hasn’t okayed another derailment. She doesn’t want to risk the train changing its route. I’m afraid she will though, soon. The compound has gotten used to the luxury. They don’t realize the repercussions that they have on the City. I’m afraid to tell them because what if they don’t care what it does to the City? What if they actually want that to happen?

“Anytime I speak out against Nyx she points out that she’s just doing what Party Poison would do. She’s brutal. Of course, so was Party Poison, I wrote him that way. He was a desert outlaw, he had to be brutal.

“Are you hungry?”

Andy doesn’t respond. He never responds. He has been catatonic since that day. The day he lost Pete and Matt so horribly. It was too much for Andy to bear.

Gerard can’t say he blames him.

Gerard opens a protein shake, one of the few things Andy can eat, and feeds him.

Once Andy is fed Gerard heads back out to continue helping unload.

“Is the patient fed?” Radioactive Spitfire – a short, temperamental boy – mutters.

Gerard ignores him. They Killjoys had been all too happy to lend aid when they first returned. The kids felt like heroes as they treated Gerard’s burns and cared for a catatonic Andy.

Now it’s been months and they have all gotten quite fed up with Andy’s continued unresponsiveness. Spitfire is just one of many with the nerve to vocalize it.

When they’re done Gerard takes his cut of the loot – no bigger than anyone else’s – back to his home. He packs what he believes to be the most tradable goods into a large backpack. Tomorrow he is going to the trading post, with or without Nyx’s consent.

After dinner that night he pulls Sky aside. She is one of the few who still looks at him with stars in her eyes. He asks her if she’d like to join him on a new mission tomorrow.

“But I didn’t think we had another mission,” she says.

“This is a special mission,” Gerard says. “Just you and me.”

She hesitates. “Does Nyx know about this?”

“No,” Gerard admits. “Just you and me. It’ll be our own little adventure.”

Her eyes light up at the word ‘adventure.’ “Okay.”

“Great. Meet me at the garage before sunrise tomorrow. You get to be the navigator.”

*

“Andy, please, snap out of it. I need to know you’re going to be okay. These people… I don’t like leaving you on your own. I worry about you when I’m not here to protect you. I’m going to be gone a long time today. Please, Andy, let me know you’re going to be okay. Snap out of it.”

Andy doesn’t react, doesn’t move, hardly even blinks.

Gerard leaves Andy in bed, feeling defeated. He goes around the house making sure every window and door is locked. He checks on Andy once more before locking him into the bedroom. It’s not a prison, Andy can get out if he wants, but no one without a key can get in. As Gerard leaves he triple-checks the front door locks.

Gerard doesn’t think anyone here would deliberately harm Andy, but he doesn’t have enough faith that he won’t take precautions. The compound is made up entirely of young people, many of whom aren’t mature enough to fully understand the consequences of their actions. At least in Gerard’s opinion.

Last week -- before the heist, as supplies were scarce and tensions ran hot -- one Killjoy stabbed another for stealing a can of juice. The injured Killjoy was ultimately fine. Nyx punished the stabber by tying him to a post in the courtyard for three days. The entire time he was tied to the post, that Killjoy maintained he was being wrongly punished. Gerard thinks he still believes that.

It’s not a community Gerard feels comfortable leaving Andy alone in.

The desert is pitch black at night. Gerard doesn’t want to alert anyone to his presence so he moves without a flashlight, relying on memory to get him to the garage.

Sky is already in the garage waiting for him. She is perched on the hood of the Trans Am, clutching a bundle of maps. She practically vibrates with excitement.

“Not that one, too noisy.”

Gerard directs her to one of the more full-bodied dune buggies. The top is open, but the rest is covered in siding making it more like a convertible than the typical skeleton-style dune buggies. The body will help protect their things as well as muffle the sound of the engine.

Sky doesn’t need to use her maps to direct him to the trading post. They make good time despite her pouting and whining, “But I wanted to use the maps. How can I be a navigator if I don’t use maps?”

The door is locked when they arrive.

“That’s strange,” Gerard says. “Does he have store hours or something?”

Sky shakes her head. “No, he just doesn’t like us. Just kick the door in, that’s what Nyx does.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” Sky is so innocently curious that Gerard wonders what the hell kind of upbringing she had.

Oh, she’s being raised by a bunch of militant teenagers in the desert. Right.

“Because it’s destructive. And rude.”

Gerard peers into the window. He doesn’t see anyone inside, but he feels like it’s occupied. He gets the sense that someone is nearby.

“Hey,” he calls. “I need some help. I’m looking for someone and I think you know where they went. I’m not going to break in. I’m not going to steal anything. I just want to talk.” As an afterthought he adds. “I have trade.”

The tradesman’s face appears in the window. Gerard starts and stumbles back.

“Killjoys.” The tradesman spits the word like a curse. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for my brother. He came through here and I need to know where he went.”

The tradesman sneers. “I don’t know you and I don’t know your Killjoy brother.”

“Yes you do,” Gerard insists. “I came here over four months ago. I had brown hair and all I had to trade was a crappy fake-leather wallet. The Killjoys picked me up. You thought I was insane for going with them.”

_And you were right_.

Gerard sees a spark of recognition in the tradesman’s eyes.

“How many of you are here?”

“Just two.” Gerard hauls Sky over so she’s clearly visible. She waves.

“You armed?” The man asks.

“Yes, one handgun each,” Gerard says.

“Take them off and set them on the table.”

Gerard and Sky take out their handguns and set them on a small table in plain view. The tradesman unlocks the door and lets them in.

“So you say your brother came through here?”

Gerard nods.

“Y’know how many people I see at any given time?”

“You remembered me.” Gerard points out.

“Fair point. So whadda ya got to trade?”

Gerard balks. “You see if you remember my brother first.”

“No, no,” the tradesman settles into a chair behind his counter. “I deal in trade. What do you have to trade.”

Gerard starts. “I don’t--”

“You need my information more than I need your goods. So tell me… wait, what’s your name?”

“Gerard.”

The man has no poker face, the name clearly rings a bell. Gerard tries to remember if he told this guy his name. He doesn’t think he did. Maybe Mikey mentioned it.

“So tell me, Gerard, what is information about the whereabouts of your brother worth?”

Gerard digs out a large bottle of sunscreen and places it on the counter.

“Oh, so little?” The tradesman jokes.

Gerard adds a large bottle of Coca-Cola. The tradesman raises an eyebrow, but makes no other move. Gerard digs out a bottle of aspirin. He starts to put it on the counter, then pauses.

“Oh wait, I’m not sure--”

“That’s good!” The tradesman snatches the aspirin out of his hand. He collects up all the stuff and deposits it below the counter. “Okay, when did your brother come in?”

Gerard tells him. “A few days before me. He and I don’t look much alike. He’s thinner and taller, six foot. He’s got an odd hairstyle, shaved on the sides, but the top he keeps longer. His hair is brown.”

“He’s got that odd tattoo on his inner forearm,” The tradesman adds. “Just above the wrist. Looks like one design covering another.”

“Yes,” Gerard says excitedly. “You remember him? Where did he go?”

“Not clear on the where, exactly, but I do know the who. Went with a group out of Arizona. They’re more our age, y’know, not like these Killjoy hooligans. They’re good folk. Got a nice little desert community out there, so I hear. They don’t cross the river too often, but when they do they always got plenty to trade.”

“You’re certain he went with them?”

The tradesman nods. “I encouraged him to. Told him the truth. The Killjoys are teenaged anarchists who don’t care about anything but raising hell--”

“Hey!” Sky says.

The man shrugs “Present company excluded. Mikey -- that’s his name, right? -- he liked the idea of getting far away. Thanked me for the tip.”

“Have you seen them recently?” Gerard asks.

The tradesman shakes his head. “Haven’t been back since. Of course, that’s not unusual for them.”

“Do you know how I can find them?”

He shrugs. “I just know they’re from Arizona. Oh, and they get here via Nevada. I think that’s the nearest bridge across the river that hasn’t collapsed.”

“Thank you,” Gerard says.

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Do you have a CB radio?”

Gerard trades a bottle of unopened whisky that he got from the train raid for the radio. He throws in another bottle of aspirin for information about the Mojave graveyard. The tradesman tells him about a man who calls himself Gravedigger and makes a point to know all about the local graveyards.

Gerard and Sky sit on the porch with the radio and Gerard scans frequencies, speaking into the handheld.

“I’m looking for Gravedigger. Gravedigger, are you there? Uh, over.”

There is a long silence then the radio crackles with static. A voice, gravelly like the person chain smoked since they were thirteen, breaks through.

“Who is this? I ain’t ever heard your voice before.”

“Uh, I’m Party Poison. Are you Gravedigger?”

“Nah, Sugar. My name’s Disco Mama. Gravedigger’s nocturnal, you won’t hear from him ‘til sundown.”

“Dammit,” Gerard curses to himself. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

Back on the radio he says. “Is there any way to contact him? It’s important. Can you, I dunno, wake him up?”

“Sugar, he and I ain’t ever met,” Disco Mama scoffs. “Nah, you gotta wait ‘til he’s up and at ‘em. What you want him for anyway?”

“I’m looking for my friend.”

Disco Mama is quiet for a long moment. “Now, Sugar, Gravedigger only deals with the dead. So if he knows where your friend is I can assure you, your friend ain’t going nowhere fast.”

Gerard takes a deep breath, reminding himself he needs to stay calm. “One friend is dead,” he explains. “The other is alive. He may have helped Gravedigger bury his friend. In the Mojave Graveyard. I _need_ to find my friend.”

“Oh wow,” Disco Mama says. “That’s rough. I’m sorry for your loss, but like I said, I got no way to contact him. The minute he’s on, though, I’ll tell him ‘bout you.”

Gerard sighs, a lump still sits heavy in his gut. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. What do they call you again? Party?”

“Party Poison. I’ll see you back after sundown.”

“It’s a date, Sugar. Over and out.”

Gerard drops the receiver.

“I’m sorry, Party,” Sky says. “Who are you looking for?”

Gerard leans back against the warm side of the building. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he does owe her at least some explanation.

“Well, you know the band Fall Out Boy--”

“No,” Sky interrupts.

“Okay… Well, obviously you know about My Chem.”

“No, what’s that?”

Gerard stares at her. “My Chemical Romance? The band My Chemical Romance?”

Sky shrugs.

“Do… you know about the comic book, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys?”

“I’ve heard about the books, but I’ve never read them.”

Gerard is taken aback. “Do you know what my name is? My real name.”

“It’s Gerard. You said it back in there.”

“And do you know who I am?”

Sky studies him like he’s a very complicated pop quiz. “You… wrote the books… that predicted the Killjoys.”

“Invented,” Gerard corrects.

“Huh?”

“I invented the Killjoys,” Gerard says. “They’re a figment of my imagination.”

Sky stares at him with a dawning horror. “So this isn’t real? Being a Killjoy is just playing pretend?”

“No, it’s real,” Gerard says quickly. “Nyx made it real when she started the compound. But before any of you were Killjoys it was all just a story I made up.”

Sky isn’t looking at him anymore. She’s staring off into the desert with a stricken expression. “I want to go home now.”

“Okay, yeah, let’s take you home.”

*

They ride back in silence. Gerard never considered how to sneak back into the compound, but it proves not to be a problem. No one is guarding the garage.

“Where is everyone?” Gerard wonders aloud.

They find the entire group congregated in the main courtyard. There’s a huge circle of people around the post. Tied to it is a man Gerard’s never seen before. He has brown hair that is matted and greasy and a bushy, unkempt beard. His clothes are camouflage green. Hardly camouflage in the desert.

“Who is that?” Gerard asks the nearest Killjoy.

“He’s the guy.”

“What guy?”

“Party Poison!” Nyx is standing on a small platform across from the post. She’s waving him over. Gerard hops up and joins her.

“What have you done?” Gerard demands in a hushed voice. “Who is this? Where’s Andy?”

Nyx looks taken aback by his vehemence. “I don’t know where Andy is. I presume he’s wherever you left him. And where have you been all morning?”

“That’s none of your concern. Who is this?”

Nyx puts her hand on Gerard’s shoulder and runs it down his arm lightly, almost tenderly. Gerard pulls away. Nyx’s expression hardens.

“This is a gift, you nebby person. Wait here.” Nyx hops off the platform and approaches the captive. Turning, she announces to the group.

“We have captured the arsonist who destroyed the station and murdered Matt.” The audience cheered. “And now we bring him for his punishment.

“Party Poison. This man destroyed Andy’s home, killed Matt, and left Andy in that… state. How would you have him punished?”

The Killjoys watch in silence as Gerard climbs off the platform and approaches the man. He kneels in front of him.

“Did you do this?” Gerard asks.

For the first time the captive lifts his head. He is glaring.

“He wouldn’t give it to me!” The man howls. “I needed it and he wouldn’t give it to me!”

“What wouldn’t he give to you?”

“The radio! I needed it, but he wouldn’t give it to me. He said he needed it, but he didn’t. Not as much as me.”

“So you killed him?” Gerard asks.

“So much blood. It ruined it. It ruined everything. Nothing would work so I--”

Gerard stands. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“What would you have us do with him?” Nyx asks.

Gerard doesn’t know. This man in an unrepentant killer, he should be punished, but how? Tying him to a post for a few days doesn’t seem like enough.

“I don’t know,” Gerard says. “Lock him up. I never want to see his face again.”

Gerard turns away. He can’t let this stop him. He has to talk to Gravedigger. He has to tell Andy about the arsonist. He has to--

A gunshot breaks the silence.

Gerard whirls around. The arsonist is sprawled on the ground. A mess of blood and brain matter fans out from where most of his head used to be. Nyx holsters her gun.

“Wha…”

Nyx marches up to him. “I don’t keep prisoners, it’s a waste of resources. Besides,” she glances back at the mess, “you said you never wanted to see his face again.”

Gerard flees.

*

“Gee,” Andy says when Gerard enters.

It’s the first thing he’s said since the fire. He’s in the living room, he must have let himself out.

“Andy, how are you?” Gerard sits on the coffee table so he can face him.

Andy looks off at nothing. Gerard can actually see the small spark of light in his eyes start to fade.

Gerard grabs Andy’s chin and forces Andy to look at him. “Andy, stay with me. Talk to me.”

“Matt,” Andy croaks. He probably hasn’t had anything to drink all day.

“We found the arsonist. The man who killed Matt. They executed him.”

Andy doesn’t respond.

“Patrick,” Gerard says.

There’s a flicker of recognition in Andy’s eyes.

“I’ve heard of a guy who might know where Patrick is. His name is Gravedigger.”

“Gravedigger,” Andy repeats, but he’s fading, losing whatever grip he had on the present.

Gerard lets him go.

*

“This is Party Poison. Does anyone read? Over.”

“Hey, Sugar,” Disco Mama croons in her rough smoker’s drawl. “You ready for our date?”

“Oh, yes, all decked out in my finest tuxedo just for you,” Gerard jokes. He’s actually not even wearing pants because it’s the middle of the night and, honestly, those jeans are tight.

“Oh, how dashing,” Disco Mama says.

“Gross,” a new voice adds. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Disco Mama introduces the new person as Gravedigger.

“Gravedigger, hi,” Gerard greets him.

“Yeah.” Gravedigger sounds less-than-enthused. “So you think I know one of your living friends. Is that so?”

“Yes. He may have helped you bury another person. In the Mojave graveyard.”

“A lot of people say they’ll help, but they just end up moping around while I do all the work,” Gravedigger says.

_Don’t get annoyed_ , Gerard reminds himself. “Be that as it may, you met him and I hope you know where he’s gone.”

“Alright.” Gravedigger sighs heavily into the receiver and it crackles loudly. “What’s he look like?”

“His name is Patrick Stump. He’s about five-foot-four. Light brown hair. He always wears a hat. He left a fedora at the graveyard.”

There’s a pause, Gerard waits.

“Who did he bury?” Gravedigger asks.

“His full name was Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III.”

“Yes, I do remember that.”

Gerard prompts. “And?”

“Give him a moment, Sugar,” Disco Mama chimes in. “Old brains like ours don’t work so fast.”

Gerard starts counting the seconds. At twenty-three Gravedigger speaks again.

“That boy was a tough one. Didn’t cry much. Most guys wail like fucking babies. Not that boy.”

Gravedigger goes silent. Gerard almost prompts him again.

“He asked me where to go from there and I said ‘go to the river.’ Water’s our most important resource, y’know? So I pointed him towards the Colorado.”

“The Colorado is…”

Gravedigger grunts. “Why that’s the river that runs along the border of California and Arizona.”

Arizona again. It’s like the state is calling to him.

“Do you know where he went? Or how he got there?” Gerard asks.

“He had a dinky little dirt bike. Wasn’t gonna last too much longer. I pointed him east, slightly south. Told him to straight-shot it to make his bike last.”

“So… He’s somewhere near a massive river…”

“Sorry, man.” Gravedigger really does sound sorry. “I don’t keep track of the living.”

“Well, thank you, you have been helpful,” Gerard says.

“Welcome. Gravedigger over and out.”

*

Gerard goes to breakfast the next day. Like dinner, breakfast is a community gathering, though not as compulsory as dinner. Gerard has been avoiding it, preferring to eat at home with Andy. However, after yesterday, with his running off and Nyx’s ‘gift’ he thinks it would be a wise move to attend.

Nyx is sitting at the head of the table, in Gerard’s spot. Gerard grabs a tray and stands by the side of the table. Nyx continues to eat, pointedly ignoring him. The rest of the Killjoys have gone silent, watching them. Gerard clears his throat. Nyx stands and, in one fluid motion, swaps her seat, dragging her tray with her. Gerard takes his seat. It doesn’t feel like a win.

After an awkward and mostly silent meal Nyx stands to leave, nodding at Gerard to follow. He does.

“Is he functional?” Nyx asks when they are alone.

Gerard knows she means Andy. “No, he was slightly cognizant for a little while last night, but he still has a long way to go.”

“I want him gone.”

“What?” Gerard gasps. “No. Why?”

“He’s useless. He’s a waste of resources. He cannot perform even the most basic chores. We cannot support him any longer. He needs to go,” Nyx says.

“Go? Go where? With who? He can’t function on his own and you want me to just, what? Dump him in the middle of the desert?” Gerard snaps.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you do with him, but he’s overstayed his welcome. We took him in, we got him justice, and he has done nothing for us in return.”

“Justice?” Gerard says. “You executed a man for his crimes and now you would execute another for not meeting your… standards of productivity.”

“This isn’t a fucking charity. You work or you die.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m Party Poison. I’m in charge.”

Nyx shoves him hard. “Do you really think so? You’re soft and weak. You don’t have what it takes to lead these people in the desert. I am in charge here. Either you take Andy away from here or I will get rid of him myself.”

Gerard staggers back from the threat as much as from the shove. “Maybe I should just leave with him, then. Get out of your hair and let you run your compound all by yourself.”

“I won’t let you do that,” she warns.

“Why not?” Gerard asks.

“Because you’re Party Poison and I still have use for you.”

*

“Andy, snap out of it, please,” Gerard begs for the thousandth time.

Andy doesn’t respond.

“Goddamn it.” Gerard grabs Andy by his shirt and hauls him to his feet. “Don’t you understand what’s happening? They’re kicking you out and I can’t come with you. You need to pull yourself together or _you will die_.”

Gerard slaps him. He didn’t mean to, he just got so aggravated. Andy lifts a hand to his cheek, but doesn’t react beyond that.

“Fuck.”

Gerard gathers up the bags he packed and drags Andy to the dune buggy.

There’s nothing he can do. Nyx has given Gerard a “generous” three days to find Andy a suitable place to live. Even if Gerard could convince her to let Andy stay longer he wouldn’t want him to, not now. He’s too afraid of what the others might do to them. So Gerard is going to take him to the river and hope he finds Patrick as well.

Gerard packs Andy and the bags into the vehicle and heads out. On the drive he radios Disco Mama. The connection is bad, wavering in and out.

“Hey, Sug--,” she says. “--ow ya’ll doing?”

“Not good,” Gerard admits. “Can I ask you where you are?”

“Oh so-- Cal-- I think.”

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Gerard asks aloud.

Disco Mama’s voice crackles in. “Guess I’m --ovin’ away from ya, Su--”

“Disco Mama?”

Silence. Only radio static.

“No,” Gerard whispers. “No, no, no. Don’t leave. Please. I need help.”

He never receives a response. After a while, he gives up.

*

The desert is vast and empty. The idea of finding one person in all this vastness feels hopeless. Somehow, though, it is also refreshing. It’s been a long time since Gerard has been so far away from the compound or the Killjoys and it feels so freeing.

Gerard stops to check his map. The plan is to follow the Colorado River back in a northeast direction. He overlaps a topographical map with a roadmap and holds them up to the sun so he can see the topography and the roads together.

Andy points at one road on the map and runs his finger along it as it leads away from and back to the river. Andy is somewhat cognizant again, Gerard tries not to startle him, lest he slide back into catatonia.

“You think so?” Gerard asks. “What about all that space we’ll be skipping?”

Andy shrugs.

“What would Patrick do?” Gerard asks. “Where would he go if he were out her alone?”

Andy looks at the desert around them. “People.”

“He would look for people?” Gerard consults the maps again and muses aloud. “Well if people had settled out here there would be roads. There’s not. So we skip this section of the river and follow your road, I guess.”

Andy doesn’t speak, but he looks more alert and present. Gerard follows their decided road.

A few miles later Andy suddenly sits up. “Pull over.”

Gerard does. As soon as they stop Andy jumps out. He trips, but quickly gains his footing. He looks around at their surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

“Andy,” Gerard calls. “What are you doing?”

Andy breaks into a run away from the road.

“Oh fuck me,” Gerard jumps out and runs after him. He chases Andy down a sandy path between large dunes to the river’s edge where he finally stops. Andy drops to his knees on the bank and splashes his face with water. He repeats a few more times until his face and hair are soaked.

“Andy--”

“How long?” Andy asks, sounding forlorn and beaten. “How long has it been?”

Gerard gapes, startled by this new development. “You… you’ve been catatonic for a couple of months now.”

“Oh God,” Andy moans. “The fire. Matt.”

“Andy, I’m sorry--”

“He’s dead isn’t he?”

Gerard nods.

Andy curls in on himself and flops onto the sand.

“Oh no, don’t you dare.” Gerard drops to his knees and grabs Andy’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare go catatonic on me again. You will stay with me even if I have to slap the sense into you again.”

“Again?” Andy asks.

“I may have already tried that before,” Gerard admits. “Sorry.”

“I don’t remember that.” Andy sits up. “What else don’t I remember?”

Gerard fills him in on everything. He tells him about the train heists, the arsonist and his execution, Mikey being in Arizona, Patrick being somewhere on the Colorado, and Andy’s recent exile from the Killjoy compound.

“I’m sorry,” Andy says. They’re sitting side-by-side on the bank with their pants rolled up and their feet in the water. It’s relaxing. “I shouldn’t have checked out like that. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Absolutely,” Gerard says. “I’d say ‘anytime,’ but don’t you dare do that again.”

Andy smiles. “Promise.”

They stop for the night on the outskirts of a town. They don’t try to enter because it’s late and Gerard has no interest in dealing with anything dangerous in the dark.

Gerard turns on the CB radio and pans through the frequencies. Nothing but static.

“What are you listening for?” Andy asks.

Gerard shrugs. “Anything.”

*

The radio wakes them after night has well and truly fallen. Gerard forgot to turn it off and it crackles to life. Voices filter through, muffled and mostly incomprehensible.

“What’s that?” Gerard wonders.

“Check the frequency, see if you can get a better sound,” Andy says.

Gerard grabs the dial and carefully moves the frequency. The voices start to fade out so he turns the dial the other direction. The voices come through clearly.

“… you get that biker coming from the east?” A man’s voice asks.

“A second voice responds. “Affirmative.”

“The haul?”

“Old lady,” the second man says. “Had parts. Put up a fight.”

The first guy laughs. “Don’t tell me you got beat by an old broad.”

“I got her!” The second man sounds indignant.

Gerard and Andy share a horrified look. Gerard turns the volume up.

“So we got ourselves an old maid and a pipsqueak. We’re battin’ a thousand right now,” the first man says.

“Hey, don’t be raggin’ on that one,” a new voice, a woman, chimes in. “I finally got a buyer for him in Southie.”

_Slave traders_ , Andy mouths.

“Anyone get a lock on that dune buggy coming from the southwest?” The woman asks.

“Negative,” the first man responds. “Probably camped for the night.”

“They’re talking about us,” Gerard whispers.

“We should go,” Andy whispers back.

Gerard turns the volume up so they can hear while they pack.

“Anyone get close?” The woman asks. “Anyone see how many people or what they had?”

“Negative,” the first man says.

“Well,” the second man hedges. “I got close-ish.”

“Ish?”

“I already had the old lady! It was two guys. One had red hair – like Marilyn Monroe lipstick red – and he was packing heat. The other guy was muscular and heavily tattooed.”

The woman responds, voice thick with sarcasm. “So we’ve got an armed clown and a tattooed meathead. Great. Are they even worth the trouble?”

“Dunno, didn’t see what they were carrying.”

The first man says. “Anyone travelling a distance has to have food, water, and other useful stuff.”

“Okay,” the woman says, “meet at the barn, let’s plan this out.”

“We need to go,” Andy says. “We need to go _now_.”

Gerard turns the key. The engine revs, sputters, and dies. He tries again and gets the same result. “Shit.”

“What happened?” Andy asks.

“Fuck. The radio,” Gerard says. “It’s got its own battery, but I plugged it into the car so I wouldn’t waste it…”

“And you left it on,” Andy finishes. “Now the car is dead. Great. What do we do now?”

Gerard taps the wheel thoughtfully. “Can you hotwire a car?”

“Yeah,” Andy says, “but hotwiring a car with a dead engine won’t be much help to us now.”

Gerard smirks at him. “I was thinking more along the lines of hotwiring a slave trader’s car.”

Andy stares at him. “You’re insane.”

Gerard shrugs. “Your point?”

*

Sneaking through the town proves to be fairly easy. Most of it is abandoned and dark. Gerard leads the way, gun at the ready. Andy follows behind, also armed. They work their way through the collection of houses and come out to a flat plain of desert. Before them stands a large building completely lit up. Every single outside light is on at full and, from what they can see, all the lights inside are on as well.

“That’s either exactly what we want,” Andy says. “Or exactly what we don’t want.”

Gerard agrees. “It’s probably where they keep the slaves. Harder to sneak out when the lights illuminate your every move.”

“It could make them a target.”

“For what?” Gerard asks. “What’s out here besides them?”

“Good point,” Andy concedes. “So, do we risk it.”

“No, let’s search that rest of town first.”

They search further and eventually come upon sleeping quarters. Inside, the main room has been converted into a bunk area and the kitchen is clean and looks well-maintained. There is a generator out back that isn’t on. The only vehicle is an old pickup that’s been gutted, stripped completely of its engine block.

The doors are all locked, but they crawl through a window. After a quick sweep of the main floor they head upstairs. In the master bedroom they find an arsenal of weapons.

“Gerard,” Andy holds up a rifle that looks larger and meaner than anything the Killjoys own. “This shit is military-grade weaponry. These guys aren’t some jokers. They fucking raided a military weapons cache.”

“Or they are military,” Gerard says. The idea is terrifying.

There hasn’t been a federal military -- a federal anything, really -- since Before. Whatever happened to the soldiers, marines, navy, or any of their equipment is anyone’s guess.

“We shouldn’t be messing with these people,” Andy says. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“What choice do we have?” Gerard asks. “We need a vehicle.”

Andy gives Gerard his handgun and takes a couple of firearms -- “I have actually learned how to use some of these, chill” -- and they head back to the main building.

They circle the building, keeping well away from the lights and using what little hiding the scrub-brush provides.

On the far side is a second building. This one is smaller and not as well-lit. There’s an entire side where the lights are busted and it is shrouded in darkness. They sneak up to the side, but the windows are too high to see in.

“Okay, I’ll boost you up and you see what’s inside,” Gerard says.

Andy scoffs. “As if you can lift my muscle. C’mon, I’ll give you a boost.”

Inside is a small fleet of six or seven vehicles. A collection of motorcycles, a dune buggy, a pickup, a sedan, and even the cab of a semi. Gerard relays the information to Andy. “Let's go for the pickup. It’ll handle better than the sedan and can carry our stuff better than a motorcycle.”

“Should we try to save the slaves?” Andy asks. “There’s only two of them.”

Gerard sighs. “We don’t know where they’re being held or how many people are guarding them. We’d be going in blind.”

“So we just abandon these people to their fate?”

“What would you have us do, Andy? Risk our own necks? What about Mikey? What about-- Wait, what was that?”

Gerard hear it again, gritty footsteps. Someone is out here with them and they’re getting closer.

“Fine,” Andy whispers. “Fuck it.”

They round the building towards the garage doors and come face-to-face with another person.

It’s an older woman. She has greying hair and liver spots coat her arms, but her gun is steady as she aims at Gerard.

“You won’t take us back,” she hisses.

Gerard throws his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, easy. We’re trying to escape, too.”

The old lady hesitates, lowering her gun. “You got captured, too?”

“Stranded. We heard them on the radio. They’re going to come after us. We need a new vehicle. We can help you, uh, all of you?” Gerard definitely heard her say ‘us,’ but he only sees her.

“I don’t need your help,” she snaps.

She tries the door handle, gun still trained on Gerard. It’s locked.

“Fuck,” she curses. “Get the door, I’ll get the boy.”

She runs back around the building, presumably to get the other escapee. The door gives easily to Gerard and Andy’s shoulders. Andy makes a beeline for the pickup.

The lady returns, dragging a second person with her. He’s barely able to stay on his feet and she is not patient as she hauls him into the garage. She sets him down on the concrete floor and goes about getting her own vehicle.

Gerard approaches the new escapee. It’s hard to see him in the dark garage, but he doesn’t look armed. He barely looks conscious.

“Hey,” Gerard calls quietly. “You okay?”

The guy startles and looks up at him. “Gee?”

Gerard grabs the guy’s chin and tilts it so his face is in a beam of light. Gerard gasps. “Patrick?”

“Wow,” Patrick says, breathy and tired. “Am I glad to see you.”

Gerard smiles, and a small manic laugh escapes his throat. “Likewise.”

Gerard helps Patrick to his feet.

“Hey!” The old lady snaps. “What’re you doing with him?”

“It’s okay, Gertie,” Patrick says. “He’s my friend. I want to go with him.”

Gertie studies them. “You sure?”

Patrick nods. “Yes.”

Gertie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Outside dogs start barking, loud and angry. Patrick clings to Gerard tighter. “That’s them.”

“Andy,” Gerard calls. “We gotta go now.”

“Andy?” Patrick asks.

“Almost done,” Andy calls back.

Gerard half-leads, half-carries Patrick to the pickup just as the engine sputters to life and Andy crawls out from under the consol.

“Look what I found,” Gerard says.

“Patrick!” Andy grabs Patrick in a bear hug and lifts him off the ground.

“Get him in the truck and get it going,” Gerard tells Andy. “I’ll open the door.”

Gerard jogs back to the large garage door where Gertie is on her bike, ready to go.

“We’re not getting out of here quietly, are we?” Gerard asks.

Gertie shakes her head. “Nope.”

“How many?”

“That I saw? Five, all armed to the teeth. Three evil dogs as well. Don’t try to fight them, just stay alive and run.”

“You want to come with us?” Gerard offers.

“No, I can make my own way,” she says. “That boy. You’re going to take care of him, yeah?”

Gerard nods. “Yes, we’ve been looking for him for a long time. We’re…” Gerard clears his throat; he can’t get emotional now. “We’re really glad he’s alive.”

Gertie nods. “Ready when you are.”

Gerard grabs the chain and rolls up the door as fast as he can. With a growl a dog charges in and latches onto Gerard’s leg.

“Fuck!” Gerard kicks at the dog. He lands a solid boot to the side of the dog's head and it lets go with a yelp.

Andy drives through. Gerard drops the chain and slips through the rapidly-closing door.

They are under fire instantly. Gerard ducks and dives for the passenger door, crawling in quickly.

“Gee, I need cover,” Andy yells.

Gerard rolls down his window and aims at the nearest shooter. He hesitates. He can’t shoot someone. He can’t, in good conscience, gun someone down. He can’t play God.

The shooter fires and hits Gerard’s shoulder.

“Gerard!”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Gerard aims at the shooter’s leg and fires. He drops to the ground. “Get us out of here.”

Andy guns it. Two other guys have to dive out of the way to avoid getting run over. Gerard shoots a few more times, but with the movement of the pickup he highly doubts he actually hits anything.

Andy doesn’t take them back to the highway. He heads for the cover of the massive sand dunes. Gerard doesn’t ask where they’re headed. He doesn’t care.

“Gee,” Patrick says softly. “You’re bleeding. A lot.”

Gerard glances down at himself. One pant leg is in shreds and his leg is a mess of blood. His shoulder is also bleeding, a thick rope of blood seeping out of the bullet hole in his jacket.

“It still doesn’t hurt,” Gerard says, watching the blood pour out of him with an air of detachment. As if the body weren’t his.

“Can you move your arm?” Patrick asks.

Gerard tries. He taps his fingers together and curls and uncurls his hand. No issues. He flexes and extends his elbow. It’s fine. He shrugs his shoulder--

“Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. _Fuck_.”

“And _there’s_ the expected reaction,” Andy says.

“Fuck you, I’ve been shot, you dick.”

Andy nods. “Just let it out. Patrick, find something to stop the bleeding.”

They end up stopping so that Andy can help wrestle Gerard out of his jacket without jostling his shoulder too much. Andy rips his shirt up and they use it to bind Gerard’s shoulder. It’s not enough for the dog bite so Gerard’s shirt gets sacrificed as well.

“I’ve never seen you with your shirt off,” Patrick mentions as he and Andy carefully help Gerard into the backseat.

Gerard hugs his jacket against his chest feeling self-conscious. “Yeah, well, I’m not much to look at.”

Patrick lifts Gerard’s legs onto the seat so he can lay down. “I disagree.”

Gerard blushes. “What about you? You never take your shirt off either.”

Patrick shrugs. “I’m not much to look at.”

Gerard smirks. “I disagree.”

Patrick blushes.

“Spare me,” Andy mutters.

*

Gerard wakes to Andy gently rubbing his hair.

“Can you get up?” Andy asks.

Gerard tries, but he accidentally puts weight on his shoulder. A bolt of blinding pain shoots from it right to his brain making him cry out.

Andy gives him a few minutes to lie still and recover then he hoists Gerard up by his good arm and helps him out of the truck.

“Where are we?” Gerard asks, taking in the small shack perched just yards from the river.

“Home, I suppose,” Andy says. “Temporarily at least. C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

“Andy?” Gerard says.

“Hm?”

“I’m really glad you’re not catatonic anymore.”

Andy grips his arm just a little tighter. “Me, too.”

He leads Gerard into the bedroom where Patrick is already asleep on the bare mattress.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind sharing with your boyfriend,” Andy jokes as he helps Gerard onto the bed.

“What about you?” Gerard asks.

“We collected the stuff from the dune buggy. I’ll sleep on the sleeping bags. Now go to sleep.”

Gerard does.

*

Exhausted, they all sleep right through the morning into the early afternoon. Gerard wakes with a fever, chills, and his injuries throbbing with pain. Andy carries Gerard down to the bank where he and Patrick set about removing the blood-soaked bandages and clean the infected wounds. Gerard bites a spare shirt and tries -- unsuccessfully -- not to cry throughout the process.

Despite the agony, after it’s all done and he’s bound up with proper sterile gauze, Gerard feels worlds better.

“I don’t think you have any broken bones,” Andy says as he watches Gerard limp carefully, “but that bullet is definitely in your shoulder. It needs to come out.”

“Oh no. I’ve had enough of you two playing nurse,” Gerard says. “No offense. You’re not digging into my shoulder for a tiny piece of metal.”

“Gerard, it has to come out.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Gerard limps back to the shack. “Not today at least.”

“So you’re just going to let it sit there in your shoulder?” Patrick asks.

Gerard leans heavily on the doorframe. “Patrick, I’m an old man--”

“You’re not--”

“I’m an old man and I’ve been through a lot. My body can’t take much more right now. Just let me rest.”

*

The next day Patrick fills them in on what happened to him.

Like so many others Patrick and Pete ended up in a refugee camps. They were shuffled around from place to place and fed whatever miniscule amount of food camp leaders could scrounge up. They shared soggy blankets and slept on damp ground.

Patrick got sick. Pete, determined to get him better, took him out of the camp. They headed south, hoping for a drier, warmer climate.

On the way Pete got injured. Patrick doesn’t know where or when or how. Pete hid it from him until it became too infected to treat. The infection killed him within days of Patrick finding out about it.

“He was such an idiot,” Patrick complains. “If he had just _told me_ we could’ve done something. He could’ve survived.”

Alone and desperate Patrick left him in search of safety. He ran into Gravedigger who took pity on him. Gravedigger took Patrick back to collect Pete and helped him bury him in the graveyard.

Afterwards Patrick took Gravedigger’s advice and headed for the river. He never made it. The bike broke down and, after a couple days of walking, the slave traders picked him up.

“I didn’t fight,” Patrick admits. “I was hungry and tired and I just thought ‘I’ll take anything that’ll get me out of this desert.’”

“Did they hurt you?” Andy asks.

Patrick shakes his head. “Not really, not like you think. I mean, they barely fed me and they kept me locked up, but it _was_ better than the desert. I was actually content to stay, and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. I only changed my mind when they started selling us. Gertie was the first one with the know-how to break out. I knew they’d be selling me off soon so I begged her to take me with her. She agreed to take me as far as the next free town, but then we ran into you two. Well, you know the rest.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Gerard says. “I’m sorry about Pete, but I’m glad you survived despite all that.”

Patrick smiles nervously. “Right now, I’m glad I survived, too.”

*

That night Patrick kisses him.

Gerard and Patrick are sharing the bedroom again after Andy insisted he was fine in the other room with the sleeping bags.

The kiss is quick and tentative. Before Gerard has time to react Patrick is pulling away with a mumbled apology.

“Wait.” Gerard grabs Patrick by his shirt. “Get back here.”

Gerard draws him in for a second kiss. Emboldened by Gerard’s encouragement Patrick kisses more deeply

Their lips part with a gentle pop.

“Is this okay?” Patrick asks.

“Yes,” Gerard says.

“Are you sure? Because you’re inj--”

“Patrick.” Gerard wraps his good arm around Patrick’s waist and pulls their bodies together. “This is good. Please. Don’t stop.”

Patrick leans in to kiss him again. Which is good because Gerard had no idea how he was going to sit up to meet Patrick partway, with his arm occupied holding Patrick close Gerard has no way to get up.

Gerard parts his lips and Patrick takes the invitation, licking into his mouth. Patrick is an amazing kisser. When he breaks away Gerard makes a small whine of protest, but then he starts kissing and sucking his way down Gerard’s neck. He kisses a spot where Gerard’s neck meets his collarbone and makes Gerard moan, the kiss sending pleasurable sensations right to his dick. Patrick focuses his attention on that spot, creating what will probably be an impressive hickey.

“Fuck, Patrick,” Gerard moans. “I’m… I… jeans, please.”

Patrick pulls back so he can unzip Gerard’s jeans. He pulls them down just enough to free Gerard’s dick.

“I don’t want to hurt your leg,” Patrick says by way of explanation.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

Gerard unbuttons Patrick’s jeans, but he can’t manage the zipper. He starts to sit up so he can reach with both hands, but Patrick pushes him back down and undoes the jeans himself. He removes them and tosses them aside.

“Shirt, too,” Gerard says, tugging at the edge of the fabric.

“Oh bossy, bossy,” Patrick jokes. He yanks his shirt off, tossing it away with his jeans.

Once undressed, Patrick hesitates. “I’ve never…”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Gerard tells him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Patrick nods and looks at him contemplatively.

Gerard arches his back. The move puts weight on his shoulders and the injured one protests, but he ignores it. He grabs the edge of his shirt and slowly pulls it up, exposing his chest. He stops when it’s bunched up at his armpits, he isn’t going to try to take it off. He glances up at Patrick who is staring at his with his jaw hanging open.

“Like what you see?” Gerard asks.

“Yeah.” Patrick’s voice comes out breathy. He swallows. “Y’know, for an ‘old man’ you’re pretty sexy.”

Gerard winks. “I know.”

His shoulder is really starting to throb now so he lowers himself back down. Slowly, so Patrick doesn’t see how much he’s hurting.

Maybe he should have let Andy dig the bullet out.

Patrick crawls carefully on top of him, sliding one leg in between Gerard’s legs. The skin-on-skin contact makes Gerard moan and he drags Patrick down into a kiss the soon becomes frantic.

Patrick’s cock is pressed against Gerard’s hip. Gerard starts rolling and bucking his hips, creating a wonderful sensation of friction between them. Soon Patrick isn’t kissing him so much as panting into his mouth.

“Gee, Gee, fuck, oh god,” Patrick moans.

Patrick is copying him, rolling his hips, faster and less controlled than Gerard. Gerard is close. It’s been so long since he’s been sexual with anyone, he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed with how fast he’s reaching his climax.

Gerard comes. He presses his mouth into Patrick’s neck to smother the high-pitched whine he always makes when he orgasms.

Patrick’s thrusts become more frantic and his pants turn into higher-pitched moans. “Gee, I’m gonna…”

Gerard grabs Patrick’s ass. “Come for me.”

Patrick does, burying his face in Gerard’s neck to stifle his own guttural moan. He collapses on top of Gerard and Gerard wraps an arm around him, holding him close.

Patrick’s weight is putting pressure on Gerard’s shoulder, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want Patrick to move. He wants to hold onto this moment as long as he can.

*

Gerard wakes to Andy knocking on the door.

“Gerard,” Andy calls. “Get up. Now.”

Patrick had rolled off of him sometime during the night so Gerard doesn’t have to wake him to move. He gets up and uses a blanket to rub the dried cum off his stomach then he fixes his clothes. His shoulder is having its revenge on him for how he treated it last night. It’s so stiff and sore he can barely move it.

He holds his arm close as he stumbles into the main room. He shuts the door behind him so as not to wake Patrick.

“Wha--”

“Your friends are here.” Andy glances worriedly between Gerard and the front window. “What are they doing here? How did they find us?”

Gerard sighs. He feels tired. Utterly beat-down and exhausted.

“Party Poison,” A voice sing-songs from outside. “I know you’re in there.”

It’s Nyx, come to get him. Gerard wishes he had more time. More time with Patrick and Andy. More time to get further away.

“I don’t know how,” Gerard says, “but they’re here for me. You need to take Patrick and run. I’ll distract them so you can go for the truck.”

Andy stares at him. “What? And leave you?”

Gerard nods. “I--”

There’s a gunshot. They both flinch, but nothing happens.

_Probably shot into the air_ , Gerard realizes. _Good, waste your bullets_.

Gerard grabs his gun and holster, but he can’t manage the straps with only one hand.

Andy helps him. “You can’t seriously mean to sacrifice yourself for us.”

“I don’t think they’ll hurt me, but I need to know you two are safe,” Gerard says.

“You ‘don’t think.’ Christ, Gerard. What… What about Mikey?”

“Find him,” Gerard says. “He’s in Arizona. There's a way across the river in Nevada. Find him for me.”

“And tell him I left you to die?” Andy asks.

“Guys? What’s going on?” Patrick stumbles out of the bedroom bleary-eyed. “Was that a gunshot?”

Gerard addresses Andy. “This is a matter of protecting Patrick. You wouldn’t want him to get hurt again, would you?”

Andy glares at him. “That’s unfair.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh, guys?” Patrick says. “The guy you’re fighting about? Right here. Someone want to fill me in?”

“Get your shoes on,” Andy snaps at Patrick, “and grab everything you can carry. Now.”

Patrick complies in stunned silence.

*

“There you are,” Nyx says as Gerard exits the shack.

He approaches them slowly. Nyx is here along with two other Killjoys. Duke is not among them. Behind him sits their ride, a four-seat dune buggy. Nyx’s hand rests on her gun. The other two are just as casually armed. Gerard comes to two possible conclusions.

Possibility one: Duke is nearby, perhaps hiding around the back of the shack. If so, this is most likely some sort of ambush and Gerard, Andy, and Patrick are all dead.

Possibility two: Duke isn’t with them and that fourth seat is for Gerard.

Either way Andy and Patrick are dead if they’re caught.

Nyx taps a fingernail on the handle of her gun. As if Gerard needed another reminder that he’s outnumbered and out-gunned.

“You took your time coming out,” Nyx says, casually. “Almost thought you were hiding from us.”

“Andy still needs minding,” Gerard says, the lies forming as he speaks. “I couldn’t just leave him by himself.”

“You were expected to do just that,” Nyx reminds him, “and you were supposed to be home yesterday.”

‘Home.’ The compound isn’t ‘home.’ Mikey is ‘home’ and Gerard hasn’t seen home in months. All because he let himself get wrapped up in a fantasy world that had no business leaving the pages of a comic book.

Now he’s facing an armed, intelligent, and -- quite frankly -- unhinged young lady and two of her unquestioning minions. Gerard could very well die here and that would be it. No director calling ‘cut,’ no Grant Morrison offering him a hand up and telling him his acting looked great. Just dead and done.

Gerard isn’t ready to die yet.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard apologizes. “I lost track of time. Let me just get my bag and we can go.”

Gerard takes a step away, but Nyx catches his shirt and pulls him to a stop.

“No,” she orders, “we leave now.”

“Very well.” Gerard bows his head and starts walking towards the dune buggy. The other two Killjoys are putting away their weapons and climbing in as well. Gerard dares to glance back at Nyx. She’s scrutinizing him carefully.

“What are you hiding?”

Gerard blinks innocently. “What?”

“Nyx,” one of the Killjoys says, “look!”

Everyone looks where he is pointing and see Andy and Patrick making a break for the pickup truck.

“What the…?” Nyx glances between the escapees and Gerard, momentarily caught off-guard. Then she pulls her gun on the fleeing pair.

Gerard tackles her.

Nyx drops the gun and it goes off. She and Gerard fall to the ground, wrestling. Nyx fights to reach her gun and Gerard fights to hold her back.

The truck starts driving away.

“Shoot them,” Nyx yells. “Shoot them!”

Gerard grabs her around the throat and, kneeling on her legs, bends her body back until she cries out in pain.

“Shoot them and I kill her,” Gerard threatens.

Gerard glances back to make sure they’re complying. It would be so easy to kill her, he realizes. He has her completely at his mercy and his gun is within easy reach. If he killed her most of his problems would be over.

If he killed her, he’d be no better than her.

Gerard doesn’t notice Nyx is moving until she slams her elbow hard into his temple. He releases her, stunned.

The next thing he sees is the butt of a gun swinging towards his head.

Then nothing.


	6. 6

Gerard wakes in a bed. His head is throbbing and his shoulder is sore. He rolls it, but it doesn’t hurt beyond the constant soreness.

He tries to reach up, but his hand is held back with a clatter of metal. He opens his eyes and realizes that he has a fresh new bandage on his shoulder and his opposite hand in cuffed to the bed frame.

“Hey,” a gentle voice says, “you’re awake.”

Nyx is sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching him. Her hair color has changed once again back to the brilliant fiery red it was when he first met her. It feels appropriate somehow.

Gerard tries to get away from her, but the handcuff prevents him from doing anything besides shifting to the far side of the bed.

“Easy now,” Nyx says, still gently. “We just operated on your shoulder. If you’re not careful, you’ll pull the stitches out.

Gerard runs out of room to shift away.

“You’re very lucky we found you,” Nyx continues. “Do you know how dangerous it is to leave a bullet in your body? We stitched you up as well. Good God, you’re away from home for a few days and you get into such trouble.”

_She’s speaking to me like I’m two_ , Gerard thinks.

“You tried to shoot my friends,” Gerard says.

“No I didn’t.”

Gerard stares at her, confused. She looks back at him, the picture of innocence. “Yes you did. I had to stop you.”

“ _You_ ,” she scolds, “attacked _me_.”

She touches her neck which is mostly a purple and blue mottled bruise.

“You are so very lucky I am forgiving.”

Gerard glares at her. “What I did was self-defense. Where are my friends? Let me out of here.”

Nyx heads for the door. “Rest now. We’ll come and get you soon.”

*

Though he doesn’t want to, Gerard sleeps. He feels better for it and he’s much better rested when Duke comes to fetch him.

“What’s going on?” Gerard asks as Duke leads him to the main hall. “What’s Nyx planning?”

Duke glances at him momentarily. “Nyx said not to talk to you.”

“I’m Party Poison,” Gerard says, even though the title tastes like ash on his tongue. “You can tell me whatever you know.”

‘Nyx said--”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what Nyx said,” Gerard snaps.

Duke stops walking and faces him. “That’s the problem.”

Gerard doesn’t know how to respond. He follows Duke in silence to rest of the walk.

The dining tables have been moved to form a semicircle and the ten most high-ranking Killjoys are seated at them with Nyx in the center.

Facing the semicircle is a lone chair. Gerard knows that’s his spot before Duke even leads him to it. As he sits he feels like he’s being put in front of a firing squad.

He very well might be.

Duke takes a seat to Nyx’s right. To her left a lanky, broad-shouldered girl -- The Judge, Gerard doesn’t know if she has any other name but that -- picks up a sheet of paper and starts to read.

“Party Poison. You are being brought to trial for maverick behavior unbecoming of the Killjoys.”

_Unbecoming?_ Gerard thinks. _Maverick was the defining characteristic of the Killjoys. What the hell do they mean ‘unbecoming’?_

“You are being charged with three counts of reckless endangerment of your fellow Killjoys. Three counts of disregarding authority. Twenty counts of flagrantly disobeying authority.”

_Huh_ , Gerard muses, _I’ve been busy_.

“Three counts of assault. One count of assault with intent to murder. One count of attempted murder.”

_Aren’t those two the same thing?_

“Anything else?” The Judge asks the assembled group.

“Two counts of harboring fugitives,” a chubby boy at the end of the table adds.

“Attempt to flee the scene,” one of the Killjoys who was amongst the group that brought him back adds.

“Disobeying someone of higher authority,” Nyx says, smirking at him.

“Eat shit,” Gerard tells her.

“Insulting someone of higher authority.”

“Okay,” The Judge says. “Now, the council's ruling--”

“Wait,” Gerard interjects. “Don’t I get a say in all this?”

“No,” Nyx says the same time The Judge says “Yes.”

Gerard sits back, feigning casualness while at the same time trying to glance under the tables to see if any of them are armed. The light is too dim to tell.

“First of all,” he says. “I don’t accept these charges.”

“You… You don’t?” The Judge asks, confused.

“Nope. I no longer acknowledge your authority and, as such, will not be held to your laws.”

The chubby boy glances between Gerard and Nyx. “Can… Can he do that?”

“No,” Nyx snaps, “of course he can’t do that.” She points at Gerard. “You agreed to be Party Poison, therefore you are held to our laws.”

Gerard shakes his head. “I am not Party Poison. Party Poison is a fictitious figure and, therefore, all charges leveled against him are equally fictitious.”

Gerard stands and strides towards the door.

“Sit down,” Nyx orders.

“Nope.”

Gerard hears a chorus of clicks as the safeties are removed from ten handguns. He freezes.

“Sit. Your ass. Down.”

Gerard returns to his seat.

Nyx holsters her gun. The rest follow suit. She gets up and approaches him.

“If you’re not Party Poison, then was are you?”

Gerard meets her gaze and shrugs slightly. “I’m just a man. I’m not a hero or a leader of desert renegades. I’m an artist, a writer, a man. That’s all.”

Nyx crouches to his level and looks him in the eye.

“Then what good are you?”

*

Gerard is dragged through the dirt to the Square. He is left kneeling in the hot sand with his hands cuffed above and behind his head in a position that strains his still healing shoulder.

The council announces Gerard’s crimes, informing the shocked Killjoys that any attempt to free him will be treated as a criminal act and punished accordingly. His punishment will last until the council ‘sees fit’ to free him.

Once the announcement is made Nyx looks at Gerard with a gloating smile.

“Did Party really do all that?” A small voice asks. It’s Sky. She’s staring at Gerard in fascination and fear.

“Yes,” Nyx says, “and he is being punished as anyone would.”

“But who will lead us?” Sky asks.

“I will, as I always have. We don’t need an old man like Party Poison to lead us. We were doing just fine before him, we’ll be just fine now.”

“You’re a shadow,” Gerard says.

Nyx turns to him. The rest of the congregated Killjoys go silent.

“What did you say?”

Gerard doesn’t raise his voice as he speaks, but he knows they hear him. “You are a shadow. I invented this world. I built it. You just borrowed it. Without me you’d have nothing. You’d be nothing. You are a shadow.”

Nyx backhands him so hard he sees stars.

“Could a shadow do that?” She demands. “You may have invented this world, but I rule it now.”

*

Late that night, after everyone else has eaten and gone to bed, Sky returns to talk to him. She sits in front of him, knees pulled up to her chest. She looks young, so very young, and scared. Gerard wishes he could hug her.

“You left me,” she says. “You went away with Andy and you left me.”

“Oh, Sky, I couldn’t bring you with me. It was too dangerous.”

“You weren’t going to come back, were you?” she asks.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry--”

Sky jumps up and stops her foot. “You left me and you didn’t come back. You’re no better than my parents!”

She runs off sobbing.


	7. 7

It’s amazing how much starvation narrows one’s focus.

Gerard should be in a lot of pain, but he’s not. He knows his damaged shoulder is being held at a bad angle because of how he’s cuffed to the post. He knows he’s sunburned horribly because he can see the red skin and blisters on the few occasions he has the energy to lift his head to look. He knows his wrists are torn because he can feel the dried blood on his arms from the many futile attempts to free himself from the cuffs.

He knows all of this, but none of it hurts. All he feels is the gaping emptiness that is his stomach and his parched tongue that seems too swollen for his mouth.

The thirst and hunger have stripped him completely of his pride. Anyone he sees he begs for food, water, anything. No one comes near him anymore.

A group of giggling Killjoys brought him water. They laughed as he swallowed the water in greedy gulps and positively howled when he tasted the vinegar they’d added and started spitting the liquid back up. They left him as he dry-heaved, their mocking laughter ringing in his ears for hours after.

“Party?”

Night has fallen, Gerard’s not sure when. He’d fallen asleep at some point, his body desperately storing what little energy he has left. Sky’s face appears in his line of vision. She has to crouch down to make eye contact with him as he hasn’t lifted his head.

“That was really mean of those guys,” she says.

Gerard doesn’t respond. He doesn’t think he can respond. His mouth is so dry.

“Can you lift your head?” She asks.

He tries and, as soon as he does, she puts a bottle to his lips and pours cool water into his mouth. There’s no vinegar and Gerard is so relieved. He tries to drink slowly, but he can’t help gulping the water down. Sky pulls the bottle away and Gerard whines pitifully.

“Sorry,” she says, “but I don’t want you to drink too much and get sick. Can you eat?”

Gerard nods and Sky starts feeding him bits of bread and vegetables one small piece at a time. Gerard forces himself to chew each bit at least twice to keep from eating too fast.

“I’m sorry I said you were as bad as my parents, Party,” Sky says. “That was mean.”

“It’s okay,” Gerard says, because he remembers what it was like being an angry kid, lashing out whenever something hurt him. “Gerard, please.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“Oh, okay,” she says. “Gerard.”

“What’s yours?” Gerard asks.

Sky wrings her hands together. “I don’t like the name my parents gave me. I like Sky.”

Gerard nods. “Okay, Sky. If you help me get out of here, I’ll take you with me.”

She stares at him. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees.

She hesitates. “I don’t--”

“Who’s out here?” A voice calls. One of the Killjoys on nightly patrol.

Sky grabs her things and flees.

*

Gerard doesn’t see Sky the next day, or the next, or the one after that.

What little energy he gained from the food and water she brought soon fades away. His tongue becomes too dry to even beg for water, not that anyone comes close enough to hear his hoarse whisper anyway.

He’s ready for death if it will mean the end of his suffering.

_I’m sorry, Mikey_ , Gerard thinks. _I’m sorry I got so caught up in all of this and didn’t look for you like I should have. I’m sorry to Patrick and Andy for dragging them into this mess. I hope they found you, Mikey, and I hope you’re all safe._

*

Gerard wakes suddenly from one of his many dozes as he hears a vehicle stop nearby. No, not just one vehicle, many. Something about this is strange, but he’s too tired to puzzle out why. A door opens and someone steps out.

“Gerard!”

Gerard knows that voice. He _knows_ it, but he can’t recall why. The person kneels before him and grabs his chin, lifting his head. Gerard stares at the person’s face as his mind works sluggishly to make a connection. Finally, it clicks.

Mikey.

His hair is different, no longer shaved at the sides. It’s greased back, but a few bangs have escaped and hang in his face. He has a scar Gerard doesn’t recognize, a line across the left side of his forehead.

“Mi…” Gerard croaks out.

“Oh, Gee, I’m so sorry.” Mikey’s eyebrows are pinched together and his brow is furrowed. He’s trying not to cry. “I had no idea you were out here. Fuck. I would’ve come for you sooner.”

He kisses Gerard gently on his forehead. “Just hang in there. I’ll get you out.”

There are shouts as the Killjoys approach the invaders.

Nyx’s voice stands out, loud and clear. “Why, Kobra Kid. What an unexpected--”

“Get fucked,” Mikey snaps.

He confronts her, but doesn’t step more than a few feet from Gerard.

“You’re in charge here?” He asks her.

“Yes. Yes, I am. My name is--”

“Release him. Now.” Gerard has never heard this tone from Mikey, firm and commanding. It makes him feel protected even as it stuns Nyx.

“I… I can’t do that,” she says.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Gerard can’t see Nyx’s face because he’s too weak to lift his head, but by God would he love to. Lacking that, though, he is treasuring her insecure tone.

“You cannot have him.”

“Let’s try this again.” There’s a click as Mikey releases the safety on his gun. “Uncuff him. Now.”

“Ooh, a gun.” Nyx’s tone is mocking. “You think your crew can take on my whole compound?”

Mikey laughs, one short, sarcastic ‘ha.’ “You think this is it? Three vehicles? I don’t have a crew; I have an army. You can’t win.”

“You’re lying,” Nyx accuses.

“You want to test that theory?” Mikey asks. “I’m willing to die for him. Are you?”

Gerard doesn’t hear a response, but people walk towards him. In his line of vision Mikey’s boots appear. Nyx starts uncuffing him.

Gerard had lacerated his wrists pretty badly in his attempts to get out of the restraints. Now his wrists have scabbed over and, as Nyx removes the cuffs, his scabs tear away with them.

Gerard cries out in pain.

“Stop it, you’re hurting him,” Mikey says.

“You said ‘uncuff him,’ I’m uncuffing him,” Nyx replies.

She disengages the last cuff with a particularly violent yank. Gerard screams. Without the cuff holding him up he falls forward. Mikey catches him.

“It’s okay, Big Bro, I got you.”

Mikey hooks one of Gerard’s arms around his shoulders, unconcerned with Gerard’s bleeding wrists staining his shirt. He wraps an arm around Gerard’s back and another under his knees and scoops him up.

Gerard feels like a ragdoll as Mikey carries him to a pickup truck and passes him to waiting hands in the covered truck bed.

“Mikey.” Gerard grabs Mikey’s shirt.

“Easy, Gee,” Mikey pries Gerard’s hand off him. “Just relax and let them take you.”

“Sky.”

“What?” Mikey asks.

“Get Sky.”

Mikey still looks confused. “Um, okay”

Gerard let’s go.

“Sky?” Mikey calls. “Is there a Sky here?”

Gerard is laid gently into the truck bed. Hands lift his head and place something soft beneath it. More hands inspect his wrists, gently prodding the damaged flesh. Gerard closes his eyes, but someone call his name, he opens them again and sees Patrick hovering over him.

“Pat--”

“Shh,” Patrick shushes him, gently petting his tangled hair, “don’t speak, Gee.”

Gerard nods and presses his head into Patrick’s hand. The person holding his wrists presses on a particularly raw part of the flesh. It stings and Gerard flinches away.

“Sorry, sorry,” the person says.

The truck jostles as Mikey hoists Sky into the truck bed then climbs in after her. He closes the back quickly.

“Andy, we’re in. Let’s go.”

The truck starts moving.

Gerard tries to sit up. Patrick presses his shoulder, encouraging him to say down, but Gerard shakes his head and starts to sit up anyway. Mikey sees him struggling and helps hoist him up and lean him against the side of the truck for support.

Sky crawls over to Gerard. “You brought me with you.”

“I promised I would, didn’t I?” He says.

“I’m sorry I was mean. You’re not like my parents at all.”

Gerard tries to say something encouraging, but all that comes out is a dry cough.

“Okay, let’s give him space, kid.” Mikey directs Sky out of the way.

Another person crawls up to him, holding a bag and a bottle of water. She looks to be in her forties, or maybe older as some of her hair is turning gray. She passes the water to Patrick and pulls a few medical supplies out of her bag.

“I’m sorry about before, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. She points to one of Gerard’s wrists. “If I may?”

Gerard offers her his hand. She takes it and starts cleaning it with disinfectant. “I’m sorry, but this will sting a lot. It has to be cleaned, though. My name’s Shirley. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your friends told me all about you. How are you feeling?” She pauses, but Gerard is drinking the water Patrick is giving him and can’t respond. She swaps wrists and continues, undaunted. “My daughter was a huge fan of yours. She died in the bombings, but she wouldn’t have liked these people. The way they’ve treated you? They should be ashamed to call themselves Killjoys.”

She wraps both his wrists up in gauze. “I’ll want to put some stitches in these when we get back, but this will do for now.” She squeezes his fingers gently and the affection feels motherly. Gerard squeezes her fingers back.

“Thank you.”

She smiles. “Any time. You rest now.”

Gerard shift his weight to get more comfortable. As he does, he feels something crinkle in his pocket. He digs the object out. It’s his Party Poison mask, cracked and crumpled beyond repair. Gerard’s jacket is long gone; he’d forgotten it at the shack. Without it, this mask is the last remaining piece of his Party Poison outfit.

Gerard holds the mask out of the side window and lets go. The wind catches it and it dances away. Gerard doesn’t watch to see where it ends up.

“Y’know, they’ll probably just make another one,” Sky says. She’s the only one watching the mask’s departure.

“Let them,” Gerard says. He gestures to Patrick who cuddles up to his side. Mikey crowds into his other side without needing to be asked. “The Killjoys belong to them now. I don’t want any part of it anymore.”

Sky is still staring out the window, though the mask is long gone. “Is it hard? Leaving everything behind.”

Gerard rests his head on Mikey’s shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. “Not when you have a reason to keep moving forward.”

 

_End_


End file.
